Marked
by Serialgal
Summary: Part 1 of a series. The brothers track a serial killer in the Los Padres National Forest. A story of trust and betrayal. Final chapter up.
1. Chapter 1

_**Marked**_

_Disclaimers: These disclaimers apply to every chapter in this story. I do not own Numb3rs or any of the characters, and expect to make no profit from this. I do claim intellectual rights to any original characters and the plot lines associated with them. This story contains brief references to the episodes 'Toxin' and 'Two Daughters'._

_The story takes place primarily on the east side of the Los Padres National Forest. I took some liberty with the trails and trailheads, and the river mentioned in the story is fictional. All of the named locations mentioned in the story are real with the exception of the town of Elk Ridge – it is completely fictional, as are all of the characters in the story. Any resemblance to people real or dead is a figment of your imagination._

_A caution – there is some gory material in this. It contains whumping – both brothers, physical, emotional and any other way I could conjure up. Many thanks to beta Alice I._

**Chapter 1**

Charlie pulled into the driveway of his house, turned off the engine, and sat in the darkness for a moment, savoring the quiet and anonymity of the night. He had seen Don's car pulled up out front, and was admittedly procrastinating; he didn't want to face his father or his brother. He was exhausted and empty inside, and trying to act as if nothing was wrong was becoming increasingly difficult. He leaned his head back on the car seat and closed his eyes; momentarily giving up the fight against the sorrow; the feeling of loss, and felt his soul plummet in a masochistic kind of freefall, almost reveling in the pain. After hours of trying to suppress it, each day for the last week or so, it seemed in an odd sort of way something he owed himself. With his head still on the headrest, he opened his eyes, and seeing a movement at the window, he sighed. Pulling himself together with an effort, he opened the car door and stepped out.

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Don peered out through a slit in the drapes. Alan was seated with the paper on his lap, watching his older son. "What's he doing?"

Don frowned, squinting into the darkness. He could see his brother's figure in the front seat of his car. "He's just sitting there."

Alan sighed. "He's been moping about something for the last week and a half. At first I thought it was just stress from finals week, but as it went on, I wasn't so sure. He hasn't been eating, I see him working when I go to bed and when I get up in the morning, so God knows if he's been getting any sleep -,"

"He's getting out of the car." Don walked over to the sofa, picking up his beer, and turned on the TV and sat down, surfing through the channels. "I bet it's just finals week. You know how he gets when he's busy."

Alan sighed and shook his head, and looked up, peering sharply over his reading glasses as Charlie came through the door. Don glanced up casually; trying not to be obvious. His brother did look tired. He was wearing a white shirt, a little rumpled, tails hanging out and unbuttoned at the collar, and a dark jacket; the light and dark clothing somehow accentuating the paleness of his face and the darkness of his eyes. He smiled at them, but the smile didn't reach his eyes; they remained unreadable.

"Hey Dad, hey Donnie," he said quietly. Smiling was an effort. He glanced at Don as he set down his briefcase on the table. "I haven't seen you in a while."

Don looked back at the TV, trying to look uninterested. "Yeah, we've been busy. A bunch of smaller cases, but they all hit at once. You got finals going, huh?"

"Yeah, just finished," Charlie sighed. He edged his way slowly toward the kitchen. "They were a bear. I added that freshman class this term and they've been living in my office."

"Come on and sit with us," invited Alan. "Did you eat?"

Charlie had made it to the entrance to the kitchen. "I can't; I've got some files to go through. I ate at school." With that, he escaped through the door, grabbing a bottle of water on his way to the garage.

Alan shook his head. "Now do you see what I mean? He's been doing that every night, coming in late, and either heading to the garage or his room as soon as he gets here."

"I don't know, Dad, he sounded pretty normal to me. Anyway, what's unusual about him camping out in the garage? He's probably just trying to decompress after a long day."

"Yeah, maybe you're right," sighed Alan, although a piece of him was unconvinced.

"Whoa – hey, did you see that play?" exclaimed Don, his attention suddenly riveted to the screen. "Watch the replay. That'll make 'play of the week.'"

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Charlie flicked on the light to the garage. One of the lights was burned out, making it dimmer than usual, but he didn't care; it seemed to fit his mood. He wandered for a moment, drinking idly from his water bottle and looking at his Cognitive Emergence work on the blackboards, which had sat untouched for two weeks. He was procrastinating, and he knew it. He sighed, and looked around at the files scattered around the room. Putting down his water, he walked around, collecting them and depositing them in a pile on the table.

He stood in front of the pile for a long minute, and then grimly started to sort. Most of the files were his; these he kept on the table in stacks. Occasionally he would pull a file, leaf through it, and place it in a box. When he was done, he had eight of them, and he lifted the box, setting it on the table, and just stared it for a moment. _'Now I know why Dad had a hard time getting rid of Mom's clothes,' _he thought. Tucking the box under his arm, he headed for the door, hitting the switch and plunging the room in blackness.

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Don leaned back in his chair the next morning, phone to his ear, taking a sip of his coffee and wincing as the heat hit his lips. "Yeah," he said, "put him through." Megan glanced idly at him, listening to the conversation as she shuffled through paperwork.

"Yeah, hey Ian," said Don. He was talking a little more loudly than usual; the connection must be bad, thought Megan. Colby and David looked up from their desks.

"How's it going? Yeah?" Don started scribbling as he talked, the conversation punctuated by pauses. "How many vics? Yeah, when did it start? Yeah, we can; I'll have to ask Charlie. He might be available – he just got done with finals. Yeah, okay, let me get back to you. This number? Okay." He hung up the phone and turned to call David and Colby over, the words dying on his lips as he saw them already up.

"That was Edgerton," Don said, as they gathered around. "They called him in as a tracker on a serial killer case, up in Los Padres National Forest. I guess the killer has been targeting hikers, three so far. He wanted to know if we can help out, Charlie too. He remembers what Charlie did to help us with tracking McHugh." He looked at his group. "How are you coming on your paperwork?" They had been working on the reports for the cases they just had closed – a tedious part of the job that they all dreaded.

"Almost done," said Megan, and David nodded. They looked at Colby and he sighed. "I guess I'll be staying late tonight," he said resignedly.

Don grinned. "Either that, or you can stay here and do paperwork while we go hiking." Colby made face. "Ian wants us up there tomorrow. I have to check with Charlie to see if he's available."

"Did he give you any details?" asked David. "M.O., anything?"

"No, but it doesn't sound pretty. He says he'll go over it with us when we get there – he's got pictures and some evidence."

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Charlie had gotten to campus earlier than usual that morning, and stood in the hallway outside of Amita's office, juggling the box and his briefcase. The door was open and he peered cautiously inside. When he saw that the room was empty he slipped in, and slid the box of files on her desk. He looked around for a brief moment, sadly; then headed back out into the hallway. He had just reached the corner leading to the stairs when he came face to face with her, and he stopped, wordless, the tightness in his gut making it impossible to breathe, much less talk.

"Oh, hi, Charlie," said Amita, a bit awkwardly.

She smiled at him, and he struggled for composure. Realizing his mouth was open, he clamped it shut. He couldn't quite generate a smile, but he did manage to speak. "Hi. I – uh – you left some files at my house – I put them in your office."

"Oh thanks." She regarded him for a moment. He looked tired and pale, and her next smile was laced with sympathy. They were still friends, after all. "Hey, do you want to get a cup of coffee?"

Charlie began edging around her. "Uh, no, thanks – I've got a – I've got an appointment; gotta go." He put his head down and fled down the stairs, and she watched him go, her smile fading to a look of uncertainty.

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Don strode across the CalSci campus with lunches in his grip – sandwiches from Charlie's favorite deli. A bribe wouldn't hurt, he thought, although he might not need it. As fried as Charlie looked last night, he would probably jump at the chance to get away for a while, especially if it involved hiking. He looked up, and saw Amita walking a short distance away; her path perpendicular to his. She hadn't seen him, and he opened his mouth to call to her, but held up as she approached someone and called a greeting. He looked like a student, and Don decided it would be rude to break up the conversation, and kept walking.

He skirted a group of students, glancing idly toward Amita again, thinking it had been awhile since he had seen her. Of course he hadn't seen Charlie much lately either, he reasoned. What he saw when he glanced at her again stopped him dead in his tracks. The man, tall and blonde, leaned down as she rose on tiptoe, and they exchanged a kiss. Smiling, the man put his arm around her and they sauntered away, Amita's lively laughter floating back to him.

'_Oh, man,' _thought Don, his heart sinking. Students flowed around him, unnoticed. _'Aw, Charlie-,'_ He felt as though he had been punched in the gut. He could only imagine how Charlie felt. '_No wonder he's been acting like that,'_ he thought. He found his feet slowly moving again, and headed toward his brother's office, trying to gather his thoughts.

Charlie looked out of his office window, hands twisted together, oblivious to the beauty of the day outside. What wasn't fair, he thought, was that they had been doing so well. He had finally felt like their relationship was comfortable. It was the physical aspect that had made it real for him – they were so good together in so many respects, and that had just cemented it. He hadn't had a lot of experience with the physical side of relationships – more than his brother might think, but still not a large amount, and it meant something to him – a commitment, a risk, a placing of trust in someone else. He felt as if he had been opened up inside, and someone had taken something from him. Suddenly, so fast it made his head spin, what they had was gone; it was over.

Seeing her that morning had reminded him how raw the hurt still was. Her smile had hit him like a blow - he still ached for the smell of her, her warmth as she curled up next to him, the softness of her hair. His eyes wandered, and he stiffened suddenly as he saw him on the sidewalk below. Charlie still didn't know his name, although Amita did tell him that he was obtaining his doctorate at UCLA – in art, of all things. He saw her approach; his gut wrenched at their kiss, her laughter, and he swallowed hard, trying to will down the pain. He was still standing there long after they had gone, staring at nothing, when his brother stepped quietly into the room.

Don had taken his time getting to Charlie's office, debating on whether he should he should say anything, and deciding against it, at least for now. He could understand why Charlie hadn't told their father – breaking the news to Alan that yet another Eppes relationship had foundered was not something that anyone would look forward to. He hoped that they had gotten close enough that Charlie would open up to him, but he hadn't been around much lately, and on reflection, figured he should give him some time. If Charlie came with them to Los Padres, maybe they would get a chance to talk. For the time being, Don decided, he would act as though he knew nothing, and he put on his game face as he stepped through the doorway.

"Hey, Chuck," he said. Charlie turned suddenly, obviously unprepared for a visitor, and the raw pain on his face made Don's heart contract. Just as suddenly, the expression vanished, and Charlie's face was devoid of emotion, except for something dark simmering just under the surface of his eyes. '_Just like he looked last night,'_ Don thought. '_And I just thought he was tired.'_ He held up the bags. "I brought lunch."

Charlie sent him a sardonic smile. "You came all the way over here, just to bring lunch?"

Don grinned back. "Are you suggesting that I have an ulterior motive?" Charlie smiled again; it had an element of sadness to it, but at least he was smiling, thought Don.

"When do you not?" He walked over to his desk and sat, and Don pulled up a chair.

"Hey, that's not fair. I don't always have an agenda." Don eyes twinkled at him as he unwrapped a sandwich and took a bite. "But I do today."

Charlie unwrapped his sandwich, but left it sitting, and leaned back in his chair. "And that would be?"

"Edgerton called this morning. He's been assigned to track a serial killer in Los Padres. He remembered what you did to help track McHugh, and he wanted to know if we could help him out. He wants us up there tomorrow." He stopped as Charlie rose suddenly and stood up, walking back over to the windows, then, when he got no response, continued. "I figured your finals are done, maybe you'd want some fresh air and a little hiking." He paused and waited for Charlie to respond, watching him with a small frown.

Charlie sighed. He really should be cleaning out his files and organizing his office; it was more atrocious than even he could stand. He grimaced at his weak excuse. The fact was; he wasn't sure he had the energy, the will, to do anything right now. He stared blankly out of the window at the spot where he had last seen Amita and her new boyfriend, and the memory of their kiss stole into his mind, making his throat constrict. Unexpectedly, he felt an enormous need to escape this place, to get away from the constant reminders, and his brother's request looked suddenly like a lifeline. It would be something to occupy his mind, he thought consciously, and somewhere deep in his subconscious was the unspoken need to lean on his brother, someone he could trust.

He turned, and tried to look noncommittal, shrugging. "Sure – I think I can swing that."

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	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"I think it's in here." Charlie's voice was muffled, and from where Don was standing, it looked like his entire torso was buried under boxes. Charlie backed out from the corner of the garage, wrestling a backpack from the grip of boxes and heaven knew what else, dust in his hair. He straightened and handed it to Don. "This is my old one. The frame was actually a little too big for me, so it should fit you fine. I've got an extra sleeping bag in here somewhere." He dove back into the pile.

Don examined the backpack, glancing at his brother as he opened the pockets and checked the straps. Edgerton had told them to come prepared – a few of the sites they were to look at were remote, and they would need to hike in and possibly camp overnight. Charlie mentioned he had extra gear, and Don had come over after work, ostensibly to pick it up, but also figuring that it would give Charlie an opportunity to unload, to tell him about Amita.

So far, Charlie had not said a word about anything other than their impending trip, and Don was beginning to feel a twinge of anxiety. He had thought that he and Charlie were to a point where Charlie would confide in him, and the thought that maybe Charlie wouldn't made him feel, well, a little slighted. He chided himself even as the thought occurred to him; this was not about him, it was about Charlie, and his brother would undoubtedly tell him when he was ready.

He glanced up as his father appeared, leaning in the doorway. "Dinner's almost ready," said Alan, watching Charlie rummage among the boxes. Don suspected from his father's reaction when he told him about the trip that he was less than excited about it, but Alan had said nothing other than, "Make sure you pack warm clothes." Don had figured that Alan thought as he did, that it would do Charlie good to get away.

The doorbell rang, and Alan turned away to answer it, as Charlie pulled a plastic garbage bag out of the pile with an effort. Several boxes collapsed, and Charlie turned back to straighten them, as Amita's voice came floating through the kitchen. Don glanced at his brother; Charlie had frozen at the sound of her voice, standing stock still with his back to Don, shoulders tense.

They could hear Alan's voice, animated and cheery, saying, "I haven't seen you in awhile. Those finals must really keep you busy," and then a murmured reply from Amita that sounded polite and noncommittal. Charlie's gut was in a knot, and he tried to get control of his expression, wincing as he heard his father invite Amita to dinner. He turned slowly, and Don studied his face as Charlie looked at the doorway, standing stiffly as Amita entered the garage, an armful of folders in her hands.

"Hey, Don, hey, Charlie," she said, smiling easily. Don felt a tweak of irritation; did she not think that anything had changed? She ought to at least have the grace to acknowledge it. Don glanced at Charlie, who had replied quietly, and making sure his own expression was neutral, responded, "Hi Amita, how've you been?"

"Good," she said cheerily and glanced at the backpack in Don's hands. "Going camping?"

"Yeah, we've got a case up in Los Padres." He glanced at Charlie, who had made no move towards her. The guarded expression was on his brother's face again, and Don could only imagine what it was costing him to maintain it. Feeling oddly protective, Don said abruptly, "Charlie's going with to help us out. We leave in the morning."

"Oh," said Amita, looking at Charlie as if she expected him to say something. An awkward silence descended. "Well," she said to Charlie, as she stepped toward the table, "After you dropped those files off this morning, I realized that I probably had some of yours, and I went through my office this afternoon. I'll just leave these here."

Charlie was starting to get control of his faculties, and decided he should make an attempt to keep up appearances. He stole a quick glance at Don, who seemed to have developed a sudden fascination with a strap on the backpack, and walked toward the table. "Thanks," he said, as looked through the files. He smiled at her as his father came to the doorway again. "Hey, do you have a minute?"

"Sure," she said, shrugging, but her glance was probing.

"Dinner's ready," said Alan.

Charlie looked up at him. "We'll be just a minute, Dad." Don looked up quickly, realizing that that was his cue, and dropping the backpack, almost bolted from the room, muttering something about washing his hands.

Charlie waited until they left, and looked at Amita awkwardly. "I, um, I wanted to tell you that I haven't told them yet. About us."

Amita's face relaxed. "Oh, that's fine. I mean, it's not like I'm leaving or anything. I'll be around. I won't say anything – I doubt they'll even know the difference." She looked hard at Charlie. "What we talked about – well, we are still friends, right?"

Charlie took a deep breath. "Right. Sure. Absolutely." He swallowed, and looked down at the files.

Amita watched him, her expression softening. "I'm sorry, Charlie. I don't even know where this relationship is going to go, if it's going to work out." In spite of the lead weight on his heart, Charlie felt a sudden little frisson of hope. He kept his expression carefully neutral, still focused on the files. She continued with a sigh. "I just need to find out, to know for sure."

"Right." Charlie swallowed again. "We talked about this. I'm okay with it." He looked up, forcing a smile.

"Good," she said, smiling back. Their eyes met, and Charlie could feel the pain knife through his chest.

"We'd better get in there," he said. "Dinner's waiting."

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Megan hauled her gear over to Colby's truck. It was 6 a.m., and they had met at the FBI building parking lot. "I'm riding with you guys after all," she said, as David and Colby turned to look at her. "I guess Don wants to talk to Charlie about something." At David's raised eyebrows, she shrugged. "Beats me. Help me out with this, will ya?"

They wrestled her gear into the back, and she turned and looked over at Don's vehicle, parked a few aisles away, watching the brothers, speculating. Don had pulled her aside quietly, out of Charlie's earshot, and asked her if she could ride with David and Colby, saying only that he and Charlie might want to talk. She wondered briefly what they would need to talk about. '_Probably nothing,'_ she decided. _'Maybe they just want to spend some time together.' _They clambered into the vehicle and headed out, following Don's SUV.

They had about a two hour drive to get to Elk Ridge, their meeting point, plenty of time, Don reasoned, for a discussion. He frowned as Charlie pulled out a pile of paperwork. That didn't bode well for a conversation, he thought. "What's that?" he asked. "I thought you had all of your finals graded."

"Yeah, I do." Charlie made a disgusted face. "This is something new that Millie wants us to do – a self-assessment on each of our classes, to be completed at the end of each term." He looked at the pile of paperwork, sighing. "Just what we need; more paperwork."

"Believe me, I know how you feel," said Don grinning. Silence fell, and he glanced over at his brother, who was staring out the window with a pensive expression. Don settled in behind the wheel, waiting for Charlie to speak.

Over an hour later, well into their trip, he was still waiting. He was beginning to feel a little hurt and slightly irritated. Didn't his own brother feel like he could confide in him? '_I thought we were closer than that,'_ he thought. The doubt that Charlie's silence created made him feel inadequate somehow, which in turn annoyed him. _'I told him about Robin, and that wasn't easy. Why can't he open up?"_

Charlie had spent a good portion of the trip staring out the window, making half-hearted attempts at working on the forms in front of him. A few times, he had looked over at Don, and each time, Don thought, '_Okay, here it comes,'_ but Charlie never brought it up, in fact barely spoke at all. They had had two good opportunities for Charlie to say something, in the garage, and now in the car – and nothing. Don chafed at the silence, and was sorely tempted to bring the subject up himself, but remembering the look of pain on his brother's face the day before, he bit his tongue, feeling instinctively that he shouldn't push it.

Charlie sighed and stared out the window, thoughts of Amita and their situation scrambling any semblance of rational thinking. He couldn't concentrate on his forms, and he wondered vaguely if he was going to be any use to Edgerton at all in his current state of mind. Deep inside was the realization that he would feel better if he talked with Don about it, but somehow he couldn't bring himself to do it. Talking about it, acknowledging it, would make it real, would make it final. Besides, he thought, almost hating himself for thinking it, what if her relationship didn't work out, what if she decided she was wrong, what if she came back…

A little under two hours later, they pulled into Elk Ridge. It wasn't so much a town as a conglomeration of a hotel, gas station and diner, and its main claim to fame was its proximity to the one of the park trailheads. Megan glanced at Don and Charlie as she pulled her gear from the truck. Charlie's face was composed, but there was something in his eyes – he looked sad, she decided. Curious, she looked over at Don, whose face was knit in a frown. She couldn't decipher what emotion was generating it; he almost looked irritated; she thought. Whatever it was, he certainly didn't look happy. '_I wonder what's up with them,' _she thought, as she saw Edgerton step out to greet them.

"Hey, Ian, good to see you," said Don, clasping hands. Edgerton never changed, he thought, as he took in the dark hooded eyes. Ian had the disconcerting effect of appearing to see everything, while revealing nothing. The man was a dark legend; many stories swirled around him, and not all of them were pleasant. He had never, ever failed in a mission, and rumor was that he walked the wrong side more than once to get results.

Don's mind wandered back to a point in time when he himself was ready to take advantage of Edgerton's lack of regard for the rules; when he had asked him to lean on a suspect, and the thought dredged up an old feeling of discomfort. He yanked his mind back to the present, as the rest of his team gathered around.

"Glad you could come up," responded Ian, grabbing Charlie's hand and clapping him on the shoulder. "We can sure use the help." He shook hands with the other agents, and said, "We've got Room 103 set aside as a war room. Get yourselves checked in and we'll meet in there."

The hotel was rustic, but the rooms were a decent size. In spite of that, and the fact that the beds had been taken out of 103, the room was packed. Local law enforcement officials mingled with FBI personnel, and they jockeyed for good viewing position as Edgerton started up his laptop, which was connected to a projector. Don glanced at Charlie, who was leaning against a wall near the door with an open notebook.

"What we have are three homicides within the past two weeks," Edgerton began. "All of them hikers; all them disappeared from the western side of the park in the Chumash and Sespe Wilderness areas. In each case, the bodies were discovered two or three days later, in different locations from where the victims had been taken. On the map, in red, you can see the points at which they were abducted, and in blue, the points at which they were found. If you will note, there is one green dot. That indicates a suspicious death prior to the other murders, with a different M.O., which may or may not be homicide, and may or may not be connected."

Charlie's eyes narrowed as he examined the map of the park, and he jotted a few notes in his book, trying to calm his queasy stomach. The number of people in the room was making him a little claustrophobic, and he had been a bit nauseated from the car ride to begin with. He wiped his forehead and tried to concentrate.

"How do we know the three are connected?" asked David.

Edgerton smiled grimly. "The M.O. is unmistakable. In each case the victims were mutilated in precisely the same way; I'll get to that in a moment. The victims are all male, and all exhibited signs of a blow to the head, and possible concussion. That is how we believe he subdued them. Two of them were with groups, one was a solitary hiker."

"No witnesses, I assume," said Megan. "Did anyone in the groups see anyone on the trail?"

"No, no witnesses," replied Edgerton. "None of the groups were even aware of exactly when the victims went missing –the best they could give us was an approximate location. In both cases where the vics were part of a group, they were bringing up the rear. It's possible that they were lagging behind, maybe stopped to tie a shoe or take a picture, who knows. One thing we are fairly certain of, our killer has superior woodland skills. He is capable of moving quickly and quietly, and knows his territory."

He pulled up a picture of a partial footprint. "We have identified a common boot print that was present at three of the scenes that does not match the victims' boots or those of anyone in the groups. Based on the size of the print and the amount of indentation, we believe the wearer is tall, around 6'2 or 6'3, and lean, with a weight of around 180 lbs. Given his apparent ability to cart off a grown man, we can expect that most of that weight would be muscle. Now for M.O."

He pulled up a slide, showing several dark colored objects lying in a pile of leaves. "Does anyone know what these are?" The local sheriff and his deputies exchanged knowing glances, but kept their mouths shut, knowing that the question was not meant for them.

"Some kind of animal droppings?" guessed Colby, squinting at the picture.

"They're digits - toes," said Edgerton. Charlie's stomach lurched. The objects in the slide were grossly swollen and discolored, and hardly resembled toes. "According to the coroner's reports, we have determined that the killer followed a set ritualistic procedure with each of his victims. He starts by cutting a shallow 'X' in their chest." He pulled up another slide showing the torso of a victim, with slash marks starting at the collarbones and running toward the ribs on either side. Don glanced at Charlie, who had turned an unhealthy shade of green, in concern. This was getting a bit too graphic. Don started to edge toward him, intending to quietly usher him out of the room.

Edgerton continued. "At around the same timeframe, the killer begins putting tourniquets on the victims' legs. There were tourniquets found at the top of the thigh, above the knee, at the ankle, and around each toe. According to the coroner, the victim was probably left that way for several hours, perhaps a day. With the circulation cut off, the legs begin to die. Hence, the appearance of the digits." Don quietly squeezed past a burly local deputy, and focused on Charlie, whose eyes were huge and dark, and reflected undiluted horror.

"At some point," Edgerton stated quietly, "the sick bastard returns, and begins removing pieces of his victim. The corner believes he starts with the toes, then the feet, the lower leg, and the thigh. He also believes that the victim is still alive when the process starts. The tourniquets keep the victim from bleeding out while the killer dismembers him." Charlie's heart was thumping, and he could hear a buzzing sound in his ears. A wave of nausea overtook him and he pushed himself away from the wall, just as Edgerton put up a slide containing leg pieces. He turned and stumbled blindly for the door, feeling a hand on his elbow, and burst outside to freedom, making it over to the side of Don's SUV before losing his breakfast, as his brother stood with his hand on his back.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Don opened the passenger door of the SUV. "Here, Charlie, sit down."

Charlie pulled himself away from the side of the vehicle, where he had been leaning. He was a still ghostly shade of white, but his breathing was slowing. He sat down on the edge of the seat with the door open, and looked at his brother miserably. "Sorry," he said; then glancing toward the room added, "That was completely humiliating."

"Don't worry about it, Charlie," said Don with a look of sympathy. "Even Colby was looking pretty green when we left, and I'm sure none of us can imagine some of the things he's seen." He dipped his head to look into Charlie's eyes, and gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "You okay out here for a little bit?" At Charlie's nod, he stepped back. "I'm going in to hear the rest of it. Just stay put, okay?"

Don stepped back in to the room, trying to get his eyes to readjust to the dimness. Edgerton was pulling down a photo of one of the victims, and put up another. He turned and faced the room. "This Richard Walsh, our green dot. He was a solitary hiker – found on the trail dead, cause of death, blunt force trauma to the head. He was in a rocky area, and it is possible that he slipped and hit his head, but he has no other injuries."

"The coroner tells us that a fall would probably generate some other signs of trauma, and there were none, but he admits he cannot conclusively say it wasn't a fall. Imbedded debris does indicate that his head struck a rock, but whether that was from a fall, or whether someone was holding that rock, we can't tell. They could find no evidence either way at the site; there was a hard rain before the body was found. It is possible that he was intended to be the first victim, but if so, we aren't sure why the killer didn't proceed with his ritual."

"Because he was dead," said Megan. "It's possible that the killer feels compelled to perform the ritual on live victims."

Edgerton nodded. "That was our thought also. Unfortunately, we may never know." He brought up the map of the park again. "As you can see, our killer is operating over a large area. The Chumash Wilderness area is over 38,000 square acres, and the Sespe is about ten times that size, at 219,000 square acres. We have a lot of ground to cover, an elusive target, and no substantial knowledge of our killer. We need to do some research."

He looked at Megan. "I would like one person on profiling, looking for similar crimes in this and other areas. We have computer links already set up. I think you would be the obvious choice, Agent Reeves." Megan nodded.

Edgerton glanced at Don. "The rest of us will split, some checking out nearby towns to see if there have been any recent arrivals in the last two to three weeks. Another group of us will visit one of the sites this afternoon. It's the only site that is close by – the rest we will have to trek into, starting tomorrow. That will be at least a two day trip, maybe three. Agent Eppes, you and I can meet after this to figure out assignments." He looked at the sheriff. "Sheriff Peters and his men already have theirs."

Someone flicked the lights on, and the group began to dissolve. Don turned to David. "What did I miss?"

David grimaced. "He went over the official cause of death, which was massive blood loss and shock. The cuts in the chest were fairly superficial, and not life-threatening, but the tourniquets are only so effective, especially in the upper leg area. By the time the killer reaches that part of the leg, the victims are pretty much done."

Colby added, "He also talked about how the victims were found – always on a main trail, with the torso lying by itself, and the leg parts neatly stacked. The body is obviously meant to be discovered. This guy's a real nutcase."

Megan joined them, Edgerton behind her. "The question is; what is his trigger?" she asked. "Why here, and why did he start two weeks ago? If our database gives us anything in the way of similar crimes, and I can link any of them somehow to the area, we can narrow down the possibilities."

Charlie spoke from the doorway. At his voice, Don turned, noting with relief that his brother had a little color back in his face. "I can probably help you with that. I can generate some sorting algorithms that reference and compare the variables you want to look for." Charlie stepped in closer to the group, and spoke to Ian. "Sorry about the –uh – sudden departure –,"

"No problem," said Ian with a smile. "Happens to the best of us." Charlie smile wryly and looked at his shoes. '_Probably not to him," _he thought. Ian continued, "I was hoping you could run that analysis that you did on the McHugh case; the bubble thing that you used to identify the most likely paths he would be on."

"Soap bubbles," said Charlie, looking up and smiling. "Isospectro geometrics. I used it to generate a Steiner tree."

"Yeah, that was it," said David, shaking his head and smiling at Colby.

"Yes, actually, that should work here as well," said Charlie. "I could use more data about the sites themselves."

"Like what?" asked Edgerton.

Charlie shrugged and shook his head. "I might not know until I see it – I'll be looking for commonalities and differences – in vegetation, topography, maybe even rock formations. I'll need to see the sites."

"You'll want to come out with me this afternoon, then," said Edgerton. "There is one site relatively near here. Tomorrow we'll all set out for the other two sites." He looked at Don. "I'm not trying to assign you and your team, but I could really use some help canvassing the towns around here."

'_You just did,' _Don thought to himself, but he said, "No problem. Colby, David and I can pick that up. We can probably be back in time to go with you and Charlie."

As it worked out, the plans needed some rearrangement. Charlie and Megan had set to work on the computers, and after only two hours, Charlie's sort had found a few candidates nationwide, but one that stood out from all of the rest.

Megan called Edgerton over excitedly. "Look at this," she said. "George Mansour, from Rosamond, only an hour from here. Murdered three weeks ago, his toes and feet removed. Survived by a wife, Beatrice, and son, Nathan. Listed as unsolved, but the prime suspect is the son, who went missing at the time of the murder." The excitement rose in her voice. "Physical description from DMV 6'3", 185 pounds, age 34."

Charlie worked the mouse, and Nathan Mansour's DMV photo appeared on the screen. Dark hair and dark intense eyes dominated a lean high-cheekboned face, with a hawk-like nose. The eyes were disturbing, intense, almost deranged. "He looks kind of like Rasputin," thought Charlie, idly to himself. His thoughts were jerked back to his surroundings, as Don, Colby and David, clumped in through the doorway.

"Hey, guys," said Don. "We got through Wheeler Point and the towns between here and there. No luck." He looked at the computer screen, as they approached. "You got something?"

"We think so," said Megan. "Charlie's sort picked out a few candidates, but this one really stands out. The M.O. is not exactly the same here – the victim was stabbed first, then his toes and feet were removed, but the location was only an hour from here, and the main suspect fits the physical characteristics we defined. The suspect is the victim's son." She hit the printer button, printing out several copies of the DMV photo; then flipped the screen back to the police reports. "Says here that the mother is still living at that address."

Don sighed and looked at Colby and David. "Well, the good news is, we now have a picture. The bad news is, now that we have a picture, we need to go back through the towns we just checked out. One of us needs to make a visit to Rosamond to talk to the wife of the victim." He looked at Edgerton. "What time were you planning on leaving for the site?"

"No later than an hour from now. It's a four-hour round trip, plus time at the site."

Don frowned and shook his head. "There's no way we'll get back in time – in fact I don't see how we'll get it all done today."

"You don't need to get back on my account," said Edgerton. "Charlie and I can handle the site visit – you guys do what you need to do. I'm taking a deputy with me, but we can probably get Peters to cough up someone else to help you."

"All right," sighed Don. "Megan, you've got the interview in Rosamond – you can take the SUV. Colby and David, we're going to split up. You guys take Gorman, Frazier Park and Ventucopa , and I'll hook up with whoever Peters gives us and cover Wheeler Springs around to Three Point.

Edgerton looked at Charlie. "We should grab lunch and head out, then. No reason to wait." Charlie nodded, and began packing up his notes. Edgerton looked at the group; then pointed to table in the corner. "We have radios over there – everyone might as well grab one now. Your cell phones will work in the towns, but I haven't found one yet that gets reception when you get into the park. If you want to get hold of Charlie and me, you'll have to get back within range of the trailhead and use the radios." He stepped aside, and got on the phone with Peters.

Outside of the room, Don pulled Charlie aside. "You feeling okay?"

Charlie looked up at him. "Yeah, maybe not ready for the lunch thing, but I'll be okay. I've got some granola bars in my pack." Don nodded, and Charlie headed over the SUV to change into his hiking boots. Don sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He knew it was unfounded, but he didn't like the idea of Charlie going on the trail without him. '_He'll be with Ian,' _he thought. '_I can't imagine anyone he'd be safer with.' _On the other hand, Charlie probably really didn't have to go, he reasoned. He would see the other sites tomorrow.

He watched Charlie put on his boots, contemplating telling him that maybe he should stay at the hotel, when Edgerton's voice came from beside him, startling him. "Don't worry," said Ian softly. "I'll keep an eye on him."

Don glanced at him. The man was not only silent, he read minds. "Yeah, I know you will," he said doubtfully. "It's just that for a genius, he can be pretty clueless sometimes. He doesn't always keep track of what's going on around him."

"I'll make sure he stays between us," said Ian. "Besides, we're going on horseback – it's the only way we'll get to the site and back on time."

Don snorted. "Well, that settles that. Charlie doesn't do horses." At Edgerton's questioning look, he continued. "We went horse-back riding when he was nine, and the horse took off with him. The guide had a hard time catching them, and by the time he caught up to them, Charlie couldn't hold on any longer, and the horse threw him. We haven't been able to get him near a horse since."

Edgerton grinned. "I'll take that as a challenge."

"Yeah, well, good luck. I tried to get him on one as recently as last year, and there was no way." Don looked up as a car pulled into the lot, and a deputy stepped out and looked their direction. "Looks like my ride is here. I'll see you later." He glanced at Charlie as he headed toward the car, with a feeling of relief. He knew if he couldn't talk Charlie into getting on a horse, there was no way anyone else could. Charlie would be staying at the hotel after all.

Charlie had finished putting on his boots, and was digging around in the back. He turned back around to find Edgerton standing next to him, and jumped.

Edgerton smiled. "Didn't mean to startle you."

"No that's okay," said Charlie. He scratched the back of his head, trying to cover his discomfiture. '_That guy moves like a ghost,' _he thought.

"I've got to break something to you," said Edgerton, still smiling. "Our little trek this afternoon is going to be on horseback."

Charlie felt his heart drop. "Horseback?"

"Yeah. Your brother and I have a bet. He says there's no way you'll get on a horse; you're petrified of them. I told him that I think you're tougher than that." Edgerton smiled, waiting for a reaction.

Charlie scowled. "Well, I'm not really petrified – that's an exaggeration-,"

"Good," said Edgerton. "I figured that. Grab your gear; we'll take my car to the trailhead. They'll meet us there with the horses."

He walked away, stifling a grin, leaving Charlie with a pale face and a suddenly dry mouth. He started when Megan called from behind him. "Hey, Charlie, you almost done? I need to get going."

"Uh, yeah, sure," said Charlie, fumbling with his backpack; then closing the back of the SUV. He stared after Edgerton, oblivious to Megan's bemused look. "Good to go." Swallowing hard, he trotted across the lot.

Edgerton had picked up a sandwich from the diner, and ate while they drove to the trailhead. Charlie declined food; the smell of the sandwich was putting his stomach through uncomfortable gymnastics as it was. He felt his heart rate increase as they pulled into the parking area for the trailhead, his gaze riveted by the three horses standing on the edge of the lot.

As they walked over to the horses, Edgerton pointed out the information area. On the board were tacked notices reading "Trail Closed," and some brief information about the recent killings. "We've posted every trailhead," he said, "but we've still had reports of hikers on the trail who have ignored the postings. People are too stubborn, or too stupid, to give up their vacations."

Charlie barely heard him. Up close, the horses seemed huge, and his knees wobbled. "I – uh- maybe this isn't a good idea," he said.

Edgerton looked closely at him. "You know the old adage – if you fall off a horse, you should get right back on it."

"Yeah, well, that's the problem. I didn't." One of the horses snorted, and Charlie backpedaled a step.

Edgerton stepped into his line of view and held his eyes. "I happen to have a personal belief that it's never too late to get back on. Besides, are you going to admit to your brother he was right?" Charlie looked away, the struggle apparent in his face; then back at Edgerton. "Come on," said Edgerton softly, "trust me; it won't be as bad as you think."

Charlie looked back at him for a moment, his eyes caught by Edgerton's hypnotic gaze. "Okay," he said reluctantly, his heart thumping wildly even as he said it. He watched with trepidation as Edgerton cinched his pack to the back of the saddle.

"All right, now," Edgerton directed, "put your left foot in the stirrup, and swing your leg over." Charlie did as he was directed, landing easily in the saddle, feeling a jolt of panic as the horse shifted under him. Edgerton adjusted the stirrup height with practiced ease, Charlie hoping that he didn't notice his trembling knees. The deputy was already on the other horse, and after adjusting his own stirrups, Edgerton swung up on his with fluid grace. He turned and smiled at Charlie. "Let's go."

They headed past the parking lot and onto the trail at a slow walk. Charlie felt new panic as they started to move, and was devoutly thankful he had passed on lunch. He gripped the reins and the horn tightly as the deputy trotted up to take the lead, and Charlie's horse trotted after him; then reverted to a walk again as the lead horse slowed. Edgerton reined his horse in, and settled in behind Charlie. "Give him some rein," he called. "He'll follow the lead horse – you won't have to do a thing."

Charlie took a deep breath, and with an effort, gave the reins some slack. The last thing he wanted to do was relinquish control to this behemoth, he thought. It didn't take long, however, to start to feel a soothing rhythm in his horse's walk, and he began to relax, and look at his surroundings. They were in a forest dominated by pine; even though it was May, the climate was a bit cool, and Charlie was glad for his jacket.

The hill dropped off sharply to their left. At certain points, there was an opening in the trees, revealing breath-taking views of the valley. The vegetation changed as the slope descended, and the lower parts of the valley were covered with thick growths of chaparral. Charlie looked at the sunlight playing through the trees and dappling his horse's glossy chestnut hide, and took a deep breath. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. He felt a little bit of the sadness of the past two weeks lift like a weight from his shoulders, as the trail wound slowly upward. He would not have been nearly so relaxed if he had been aware of the eyes on the slope above, carefully following their progress.

-------------------------------------End Chapter 3---------------------------------------


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Edgerton watched Charlie step around the site, scribbling notes, carefully noting the where the body was found, walking the perimeter of the area, looking at variables that Edgerton could only guess at. Charlie had seemed to get comfortable on the horse in spite of himself, and they had even increased from a walk to a trot along a couple of straight stretches on the way there. Maybe they would try a canter on the way down, Edgerton grinned to himself. That would get the professor's blood pumping.

Charlie glanced up and caught Edgerton's smile. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing," said Edgerton. "Just thinking about how far your horseback riding skills have come in one afternoon."

Charlie grinned back, and walked over, plopping himself on the ground next to Edgerton, and rooting through his pack, pulling out a couple of granola bars. "Yeah, Don will never believe it. I'm not sure I do myself." He tossed a granola bar to Edgerton. "It won't replace hiking, for me, but it's really kind of fun for a change."

"You like to hike, huh?" At Charlie's nod, he said, "It's a good thing. Where we're going the next few days, we can't take horses. We'll need to climb on some parts of the trail." He took a bite of his granola bar and looked at Charlie speculatively. "So what does a professor do for fun, besides hike?"

Charlie grimaced and shook his head. "Lately, not much. Seminars, fund raisers – just got through with finals week -," he broke off and took a bite of his own granola bar.

A comfortable pause ensued, and Edgerton asked, "So, do you have a girl?" As soon as he said it, he realized it was the wrong question to ask.

Charlie's face fell, and he looked away, trying to swallow the lump of granola that suddenly filled his throat. "I did," he said quietly, gazing out over the hillside. "We, uh, we broke up a couple of weeks ago." There, he thought, he said it; it was out. Just like that.

"Sorry to hear that," said Edgerton quietly. "I'm not much in that department, myself. Doesn't really work with the job." He glanced over at the horses and the deputy, who was standing off to the side, smoking a cigarette, then looked back at Charlie, clapping a hand on his back. "You done here?" At Charlie's nod he said, "We'd better get going. It'll take a couple of hours to get back."

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The deputy pulled into the parking lot, and Don jumped out, giving him a wave. Megan, Colby and David were all back, he noted, as he scanned the lot. He headed into Room 103 to find the three of them clustered together, Megan referencing her notes. She looked up as he stepped in. "Hey Don," she said. "I think we have our guy. I will be completely surprised if it is not Nathan Mansour."

Don glanced around, idly wondering where Charlie was. "Yeah? How's that?"

"I checked in with the local police before I interviewed the mother. They said that she wasn't very cooperative at the time of the interview, and that she kept insisting that her son had left a few days before the murder. When I went to talk with her though, she had changed her tune a little. Apparently she's seen the killings on the news, and they've been bothering her. At any rate, she opened up."

"Didn't have anything to do with your interviewing skills," smiled Don.

Megan blushed a little. "No, thanks for that, but I think she was just ready to talk. Nathan Mansour is a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic, has been for about 10 years. He's been on medication, but when the murder occurred; his mother checked his meds and found that he had a full prescription that should have been nearly empty. He hadn't been taking them."

"Was she home when it happened?" asked Don.

"No, she was out at the store. She found her husband dead when she returned, and Nathan and some of his camping gear was gone. Here's where it gets interesting. George, Nathan's father, was a drunk, and extremely abusive. Beating, burning with cigarettes, and on one occasion, when Nathan was twelve, he cut off one of his toes."

Don whistled. "She told you this?"

"Yeah, it was kind of wild. She said she had never told anyone any of this before, but it seemed like once she started talking, she couldn't stop. Apparently she and Nathan had lived in fear of him for years. I think she finally realized that with both of them gone, it was safe to talk."

Don shook his head, trying to comprehend what he had heard. "He cut off his kid's toe?"

"He was drunk, and I guess Nathan had gone off somewhere he wasn't supposed to, or was gone for longer than he was supposed to be. The father pinned him down, and told him he knew how to keep him from wandering off, and cut off one of his little toes. Then he threatened both of them he would kill them if they told. Guess where they were when this happened?" Don shook his head, and she continued, "Camping in Los Padres."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah. So we've got our trigger - Nathan quit taking his meds, which precipitated the murder of his father. We also know why the murders are taking the form they are. All of the victims have been male – he sees them as an extension of his father, or himself, or both."

Don shook his head in amazement. "Nice work. Now we just need to find him. I didn't have any luck with the photos – did you?" He looked at David and Colby.

"Actually, yes. We've got an ID based on the photo, at a grocery store in Frazier Park," said David.

Colby spoke up. "I showed the photo to the store manager, and he thought he remembered seeing the guy the week before. One of his checkout girls confirmed it. She said he bought a bunch of supplies, including food that wouldn't spoil, nutrition bars, beef jerky, stuff like that. She remembered him because he kept mumbling to himself at the checkout, and he packed everything he bought in his backpack. They said his hair is longer than in the photo, about chin length and kind of wild, but other than that they were pretty sure."

"We already talked to Peters; he's gonna have a guy stake out the place in case he comes back," added David.

Don nodded. "Great work." He glanced over, noticing Charlie's computer bag with a frown. "Any of you see Charlie lately?"

Megan glanced up in confusion. "He went with Edgerton."

Don grinned and shook his head as he headed toward the door. "Nah, I can guarantee he didn't go with Edgerton. They were taking horses – Charlie hates horses. Maybe he's taking a nap – he wasn't feeling too well – I'll just check the room." He stepped out, and made for their room, two doors down.

"I could have sworn I saw Charlie headed toward Ian's truck when I left," said Megan, looking at Colby and David, her forehead puckered. They shrugged. She got up and headed toward the door, meeting Don just outside of it, returning from his room. His face was a study in concern and confusion. At the sound of a vehicle, they turned, and saw Edgerton's truck pull into the lot. Don started towards it almost immediately, only to pull up short as he saw Charlie jump out of the passenger side.

Charlie fell into step next to Edgerton, a smile on his face, and they both laughed as Edgerton made a comment. He put his arm around Charlie's shoulders and gave him a quick friendly squeeze as they approached. Megan glanced at Don. The concern had left his face, but the frown had not.

Charlie and Ian walked up to them; Charlie's face flushed with color and sporting a huge grin. "That was awesome," he said excitedly. "I didn't know what I was missing. We cantered half the way back."

"Well, not half the way," said Edgerton smiling. "We had a couple of good runs though." He regarded Don with a knowing smile, and Don tried to muster up one of his own, but only succeeded in looking sour. He tried to push down a little twinge of something uncomfortable, unwilling to admit that it might be jealousy. His reply came out a little gruffer than it was intended to be.

"Well, these guys actually got some work done today," he sniped, as he turned back into the war room. "You might want to come in and catch up." Edgerton and Charlie grinned at each other conspiratorially behind Don's back.

"Doesn't like to be wrong, does he?" smirked Edgerton in a quiet aside to Charlie.

"It runs in the family," said Megan, looking at Charlie with her eyebrows raised. Charlie grinned back at her and followed Edgerton into the room, Megan behind them, shaking her head and stifling a grin of her own.

By dinner, Don's mood had improved, but only slightly. The improvement was short lived. They all met in the diner next door to the hotel, and he sat next to his brother. The group was in high spirits in spite of the gruesomeness of the assignment; everyone felt good about the progress they had made that day. Colby launched into some stories about his teenage years in Idaho that convulsed the group, and laughter and lively conversation floated through the diner.

Charlie was quieter than he had been earlier that afternoon, but he was still smiling at the stories, focusing on the conversation. Don had to admit that that was an improvement over the past couple of days. He had Ian to thank for that, of all people. Edgerton was normally cool, unapproachable, and the thought that he and Charlie had hit it off so well should have made him happy.

Hell, he was happy, why should he stew over the stupid horse thing, he thought. So what that Ian could convince Charlie to try riding again when he couldn't? So what that his brother couldn't be bothered to tell him what was going on in his life? So what? He speared a bite of chicken with a vengeance, and Charlie glanced at him sideways.

After dinner, they strolled back to the hotel. Don walked slowly at the rear of the group, and Edgerton dropped back to talk to him. "We should pack up our gear tonight," said Ian. "We've got an early start in the morning. Pack warm; there's still snow up on Mount Pinos this time of year. It gets pretty cold at night."

Don's hackles raised; he didn't need to be lectured to by Edgerton, but all he said was, "Right. I'll tell Charlie."

Edgerton looked at Charlie, who walking ahead of them, and smiled. "I think he surprised himself today."

Don grunted. "Surprised me, that's for sure."

"Yeah, me too," said Edgerton. They walked a minute in silence; then he spoke again. "Too bad about his girl; were they close?"

Don's heart constricted. Charlie had told Ian about Amita? He felt like he had received a physical blow to his gut, and realized his mouth was open. He closed it, trying to neutralize his expression. "Yeah," he finally managed. "They were close." They had reached the hotel, and he turned away, making a beeline for his room. "See you in the morning," he tossed over his shoulder, and ducked inside.

Charlie was still outside, talking to Megan, and Don sat heavily on one of the beds, his shoulders slumped. '_What's wrong with me?'_ he thought, with a mixture of frustration and dejection. '_Am I that lousy of a brother that he would choose to talk to that cold unapproachable bastard over me? I thought we were doing better. What in the hell's going on here?'_ He heard Charlie at the door and jumped up, unzipping his pack and plowing through the contents, seething, his back turned.

Charlie entered the room, and stood and looked at him for a minute. He had the uncomfortable feeling that his brother was angry with him, but for what? He couldn't be that mad over the horse thing, could he? He walked slowly over to his own pack, and unzipped it, stuffing his notebook inside. "Ian said we should make sure we bring warm clothes," he said, in a tentative attempt at conversation.

"Yeah, I heard," snapped Don.

Charlie stared, nonplussed, and then started as his cell phone rang. His heart leapt as he saw the number, and he headed toward the door as he answered it. "Amita, hi," he said, as he went out, and Don could hear no more. He finished packing and zipped his pack with disgust, then stripped down one of the beds and climbed in, fuming, reaching over to set the alarm with an angry jab.

Charlie fumbled with his phone as he got outside. His heart was thumping in a mixture of trepidation and hope. "Hold on a sec. Okay. How are you?"

Her voice came over the line, and his heart contracted. "_Good Charlie. How's it going up there?"_

Charlie's stomach twisted in anticipation. She couldn't be calling just to make conversation. "Okay. We made some progress today. We go out hiking tomorrow to view the crime scenes." '_Get to the point,'_ he thought, waiting anxiously for her to answer.

"_Well, I wanted to ask you – there was this restaurant you said you liked, that kind of upscale Greek place – I couldn't remember the name -,"_

Charlie's heart plummeted. She called to ask him this? '_Why?' _he thought despairingly. _'So she can take her new boyfriend there?'_ He heard her clear her throat nervously, and begin stammering a convoluted story about a friend looking for a recommendation, and his question was answered. "Spiro's," he said quietly, interrupting her. "It's called Spiro's. Yeah, sure. No problem." He hung up, leaning quietly against the wall, and closed his eyes as the pain took him.

After a long moment, he pulled away from the wall and went inside. Don glanced at him from half-closed eyes. Even from across the room, in dim light, the misery on Charlie's face was apparent. He watched his brother pull down the covers and slip under them, roll onto his side and curl up into a fetal position. Don knew that position; it was one Charlie had unconsciously assumed since he was small, whenever he was upset or sick. Don reached over and twisted the switch off the lamp, plunging the room in darkness. Maybe it would be easier for Charlie to bring it up if he didn't have to look at me, he thought. He took a deep breath, hoping for a breakthrough. "Everything okay?" '_Come on, Charlie, talk to me.'_

There was a pause from the other side of the room, then a muffled, "Yeah, just fine." Don waited for more, hopefully, his anticipation slowly dissolving as the silence extended. He groaned inwardly, frustration and hurt replacing hope, and quiet descended, leaving each of them to his own individual misery.

-------------------------------------------End Chapter 4--------------------------------------------


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

They gathered in the diner for breakfast the next morning. Megan was musing over Don and Charlie, watching them surreptitiously over her menu. They both looked tired and grim, and at first she wondered if they were having some kind of argument, but Don had made it a point to sit next to his brother, forcing Edgerton to move over to another chair, so she ruled that out. She looked over at Colby and David, who were enthusiastically debating which of the breakfasts appeared to promise the most food, and sighed. Maybe she was reading too much into it. '_Too many psych classes,'_ she thought. _'I have to quit trying to analyze everything.'_

Charlie slumped in his chair, his hands cupped around a hot mug of coffee, ignoring the menu. Don glanced over at him and spoke quietly. "Better get busy with that menu. We don't have a lot of time."

Charlie sighed. The last thing he wanted was food; the mere smell of bacon grease and eggs was turning his stomach. "I'm really not hungry. The coffee's fine."

Edgerton spoke from the other side of Don. "You'd better get something in you – we have a long day of hiking." Charlie sighed again, straightened and reluctantly flipped the menu open.

Don's jaw set in a hard line. '_Sure, he listens to Edgerton,' _he thought. He closed his own menu with an irritated snap. He saw Megan's curious glance and forced a smile. "Pancakes sound good," he said lamely.

Charlie made a face, and looked up at the waitress, who had appeared next to him. "Toast, please."

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Between Don's SUV and Edgerton's truck, they managed to find enough room for all of them and their gear. The trailhead that was the starting point for the hike was about twenty minutes away. Colby ended up riding with Edgerton, and Megan and David rode with Don and Charlie. The brothers didn't have two words for each other during the entire ride, Megan noted; Charlie was flipping listlessly through his notes, and Don concentrated on the road with a scowl. She looked at David, and he glanced back at her and shrugged. '_David notices too,'_ she thought, _'at least it's not just me.'_ The silence was uncomfortable; she and David tried to make conversation with little success; and at the trailhead, they piled out of the vehicle with relief.

Edgerton gathered them together at the trailhead map, his face dark. "I had a call from Peters on the way here. Another missing hiker was reported early this morning. He was part of a group of three – he went missing last evening." They exchanged grim looks, and he indicated the map. "We're here, and we expect to get to here by the end of the day." He moved his finger along the map as he talked.

"Along the way, we'll pick up these two sites; tomorrow, we'll see three others, one of them the new abduction site, which is here. That'll be five of the seven. At that point we can decide if we've seen enough, or if we want to take this loop and pick up the last two. We've got enough provisions if we want to do that. We will hit a few spots that are classified as strenuous, and there will be some light climbing right along here, and also here. Any questions?"

Edgerton looked at them; then tapped the "Trail Closed" sign for emphasis. "Much of the trail is narrow, and we will have to walk single file. We're a pretty formidable group, and I doubt that he will get anywhere close to us, but anybody that ends up in the back needs to keep up for obvious reasons. Keep your eyes open and stay together."

Don glanced at Charlie, who was standing at the back of the group, gazing listlessly at the trees. Don shook his head. '_Did he hear any of that?' _he wondered. As they headed for the trail, he jockeyed for position, and managed to steer Charlie in line behind Megan, who followed Edgerton. Don pulled in directly behind Charlie, and Colby and David brought up the rear.

Megan, realizing what Don was doing, shot him a knowing smile over her shoulder as she passed Charlie, and Don returned it wryly. '_Good, I got a smile out of him,' _she thought. She glanced at Charlie, wondering how well he would be able to keep up. His pack looked disproportionately large on his small frame; it was a good deal bigger than hers, she noticed, and appeared to be packed.

It wasn't long into the hike before she had her answer. The path had been following a steady uphill grade; between that and the extra weight of the pack, she already felt a burn in her legs, and was huffing a bit. She hit a wider section of trail, and was surprised to see Charlie come abreast with her, climbing easily. He flashed a shy smile at her and pulled ahead to walk next to Edgerton. She glanced back, relieved to see that Don, Colby and David were also breathing a bit heavily, and had a light sheen of sweat on their foreheads; that it wasn't just her that was struggling with the climb. Don's eyes were on Charlie, and she turned her head forward to see that the trail had narrowed, and Charlie was now in front of Edgerton.

If anything, the pace picked up with Charlie in front, and by the time they reached the first site, they were all in need of a break. All but Charlie, apparently; not realizing the significance of where he was, he overshot the mark and continued up the trail, not hearing Edgerton's call. He did pick up Don's bellow, "Charlie!" and turned in surprise, and then leaped lightly down the rocky trail to join the group.

Colby watched him, wiping sweat from his brow. "He's like a freakin' mountain goat," he complained to David, as Charlie undid the straps on his pack and slung it off his back.

"We're carrying extra food and water," David reminded him.

"Yeah, that's true," admitted Colby. He stepped closer to Charlie and lifted his backpack experimentally; then shot a look at David. "Jeez, Charlie, what do you have in here?"

Charlie shrugged. "Notebooks, computer, extra battery, water -," he broke off and grinned at them. "It's all in finding the right balance point – find your center of mass and make sure the load rides just above it, so you reduce the moment of the pack relative to your body- it's a fairly simple calculation –,"

"Okay, okay," said Colby, raising a hand, "we got the idea." He muttered to David, "I still think he's part goat." He broke off as Don approached, with a black look on his face.

Don grabbed Charlie's arm, and swung him around, speaking quietly through clenched teeth. "If you have to be up front," he growled, "keep your head in the game. Edgerton and I shouldn't have to baby sit you. Stay with the group." He thought he was speaking quietly, but he was apparently not quiet enough; he glanced around and saw his team staring at him; then suddenly busy themselves with their gear.

Charlie looked up at him with a mixture of surprise, hurt and anger in his eyes, and pulled his arm back, rubbing it. "I turned around when I heard you," he said in a low voice. "I don't need babysitting." Scowling, he turned and dug in his pack for his notebook.

They walked the site with Edgerton, Charlie writing in his notebook, noting the position of where the body was found; and he continued to take notes for several minutes after Edgerton finished, wandering the site while rest of them took a break. The hiking had improved his mood, and helped him out of the funk he had been in that morning, or at least it had before Don had scolded him.

He stood by himself at the edge of the site, looking at the view through the trees, and snuck a wounded glance behind him at his brother. _'What's with him?' _he wondered. When they set off again, Charlie made purposely for the front of the line, shooting his brother a defiant look as he did it.

They stopped at sunset, at a clearing on the trail. They had made good time, only briefly stopping at the second site, which was an abduction point, and had actually gotten a little further than Edgerton had planned. Edgerton started a fire and they set up camp. To keep their loads light, they hadn't carried full tents, just small light lean-tos that were open on one side and slept two. They were trying to figure out how to separate up for sleeping arrangements, Megan being the sticking point. "It's not a big deal – we're going to be in sleeping bags," she was saying to Colby and David. "I don't care which one of you I'm with, as long as you don't snore."

Charlie threw his pack next to Don's near one of the lean-tos and wandered over to a large rock formation across the trail. He clambered up on the rocks and sat on a large boulder, his feet hanging. He could see the group moving around the campsite, and the sun setting through the trees behind them. He wondered idly if Amita was looking at the sunset, then with a pang remembered her request for the restaurant. Spiro's had a nice view of the sunset, he remembered. A lump rose in his throat; the view of the sky suddenly didn't seem so appealing, and he pulled his knees up and put his head down on them, arms crossed.

His head jerked up suddenly at the sound of a shoe scraping on rock, and stealing a quick look, he saw Don climbing up to join him. He groaned inwardly and put his head back down.

Don sat next to him, saying nothing for a few moments. The silence stretched, and he looked at the top of Charlie's head. "Sorry I yelled today. I was kind of pissed about something, and I took it out on you. I'm sorry."

Charlie's face remained buried in his arms, and his reply was muffled. "It's okay."

"Is it?" asked Don softly.

Charlie looked up at this, glanced at him quickly and turned his face forward. Don watched his profile for a moment, and said, "You can talk to me, you know. I may not always be the best at it, but I am your brother."

Charlie frowned and shot him another look before looking back out at the sunset. "I know," he said quietly. He sat and stared; the silence becoming so long that Don was ready to give up again, and almost rose, stopping himself suddenly as Charlie spoke again in a low voice.

"Amita and I broke up." He shot a glance at Don, looking for a reaction, but saw only sympathy. He looked away again. "About two weeks ago. I should say; she broke up with me. She's seeing someone else." He swallowed hard, and closed his eyes.

Don thought to himself, '_finally,'_ with relief, but there was no triumph in it, as he watched his younger brother struggle for control. "I'm sorry, Charlie," he said simply, his heart aching.

"Yeah, me too," whispered Charlie, his eyes still closed. He opened them, and looked at his brother searchingly. "You don't seem surprised." It was Don's turn to look away. "You knew," said Charlie softly, realization dawning. "Why didn't you say something?"

Don glanced at him wryly. "I could ask you the same question. I thought maybe you just didn't want to talk to me; and, I don't know; I didn't want to pressure you."

Charlie sighed. "I guess I was trying to deny it. Talking about it made it seem real. There's still a chance –maybe- she says she's not sure if their relationship will work out yet -," he trailed off hopefully. "I didn't tell Dad, yet – who knows – maybe we'll get back together before he even finds out."

Don frowned. He didn't want to see his brother set himself up to be disappointed by a false hope, and he felt a surge of anger at Amita for even suggesting it, but he said nothing, just nodded.

Charlie took at deep breath. The burden of carrying the knowledge alone had been exhausting, and lonely. He hadn't realized how good it would feel to know that there was someone else who knew, someone he could depend on. He looked at Don, his eyes dark and solemn. "Thanks," he said softly. "Thanks for listening."

Don smiled softly. "Anytime. Just don't wait so long to talk to me next time, okay?" He ruffled Charlie's hair, and got a small grin for his efforts. "Let's go get some of that delicious freeze-dried what-ever-it-is."

Megan saw them walk back into the campsite; Charlie glancing up at Don and saying something with a smile, and Don replying, with a casual pat on the back and a smile of his own. She looked across the fire at David, who was also watching them, and he pursed his lips, raised his eyebrows and nodded at her. Colby caught the look between them and turned back to look at the brothers. "What? What did I miss?"

"Couldn't tell you," said Megan, as Don and Charlie reached the campfire. "Hey guys, there's hot water here. I know you're dying for freeze-dried enchiladas."

"Actually, they're not that bad," said Colby through a mouthful.

David snorted. "You say that about anything that remotely resembles food." He launched into a story of what Colby had managed to consume once during a single stakeout, eliciting laughs all around; and the sound rose with the sparks from the fire on the chill evening air. Edgerton leaned back against a tree with a coffee cup in his hand, smiling at the conversation, but distant from it; eyes absorbing his surroundings without seeming to.

Sometime later, after the marginal meal was over, Don glanced at Edgerton, who had made for his pack. He was pulling a case from it, and popping it open, began to assemble a lightweight rifle. The others followed Don's gaze, and the mood changed. A gust of cold wind blew through the camp, and Charlie shivered, as Edgerton walked over to the fire, rifle draped casually in front of him. "We'd better turn in," he said quietly. "David and I will take watch tonight. We'll leave the fire going – it'll reflect off the lean-tos and provide some heat. It's dropping down into the 30's tonight." He looked at David. "I'll take first watch."

The rest of them headed for the lean-tos; Charlie and Don in one, and Megan and Colby in another, David in the third, and burrowed into their sleeping bags. Megan heard Colby snicker behind her.

"What's so funny?" she said defensively.

"I can't wait 'til Larry gets back, to tell him about this."

"Tell him about what?" said Megan derisively. "That I kicked your ass out and made you sleep by the fire? Go to sleep."

"Yes, ma'am," said Colby, grinning in the darkness.

Edgerton sat near the fire, but out of sight, in the shadow of a huge pine. The moon was rising, and was casting a glow nearly as bright as daylight. It made the shadows under the trees appear even darker. _'Clear night, it'll be cold,'_ thought Edgerton. His ears sharpened as the talk died down, and silence descended. He had learned to trust his intuition, and it was talking to him now; the hair was raised on the back of his neck, and he had the distinct impression that they were being watched. He sat silently and listened, his sharp dark eyes drinking in the night.

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Charlie awoke at sunrise to the sounds of the camp stirring, and of Colby complaining. The smell of coffee cut through the air, and when Charlie exhaled, he could see his breath.

"Damn, it's cold," exclaimed Colby as he crawled from the warmth of his sleeping bag. "This is worse than Afghanistan."

Megan's teeth were chattering as she laced on her boots. "It's hard to believe that it's May."

It wasn't too much later that she was glad for the cool air. They had broken camp and hit the trail, which took a decidedly sharper rise, and they were all huffing, even Charlie, as they navigated steep runs and rocky sections. At one point, the trail rose over a rock formation, and they had to climb. The section of the trail was beautiful; pine forests rose up around them, and sunlight hit the rocks, bringing out a myriad of earth tones mixed with lighter colors. On their left, steep cliffs rose, and on their right, the hillside fell away into a small valley. From between the pines, they had a breathtaking view of the valley and the opposite ridge.

Edgerton had relaxed a little; not because he still didn't feel a presence, but because he decided that the risk of anything happening on this section of the trail, especially in daylight, was remote. The killer could hardly scale the cliffs on their left, and they had a fairly unobstructed view of the terrain to their right. There was really no cover to operate out of. He had been on that portion of the trail already, and knew it continued on that way for quite some time, before they hit a high point and a gradual decline.

They hit that point, or nearly so, late in the afternoon. They had stopped at two other sites, and had one to view yet before they reached their stopping point for the night.

They flung their packs down in a wider area on the trail to take a break; it was rocky, but there were no good stopping places on this section. Don looked up ahead; there was a very short steep section of trail in front of them, partially obscured by trees, and a rocky outcrop, about twenty feet high, stuck up to the left of the trail above them, edged against the blue sky. Edgerton followed his gaze. "That's the turning point for trail," he said. "The trail winds around to the right of that rock formation; and it's downhill from there."

David shook his head as he sank wearily onto a rock. "I'm all for that."

Charlie had pulled out his notebook, and was examining his notes. "Can I see the map?" he asked. Edgerton pulled out the map and handed it to him, and Charlie spread it out on a rock near David. Charlie pointed, and the group gathered around to look. "Do you see the topography of these sites? They're all at higher elevations."

"We noticed that too," said Edgerton, "but we weren't sure what the significance was."

"Well," said Charlie, "when you look at a few of the sites, and then compare them to surrounding areas, you find that they are all alike in that they have similar vegetation; similar cover. There are two basic ecosystems in the park. At the lower level, it's warmer and drier; at that elevation you have basically nothing but chaparral. It's thick in many spots, but it's not tall, three feet, four feet at the most. At these higher elevations, there are more pine forests; it provides cover. You can probably rule out a large portion of the park by simply eliminating the lower elevations. He may cross the lower elevations at certain points, but he will generally stick to the higher areas. We still have to look at a large area, but I think I can narrow my analysis significantly based on this assumption."

"Your bubble analysis," said Edgerton, nodding.

"Soap bubbles," agreed Charlie with a grin. He handed the map back to Edgerton, and stretched, looking at the rock formation above their heads. "You said the trail starts descending from there? There's probably a decent view, then."

"Yeah," said Edgerton. "On this side, you get the view we have here, of this part of the valley." He indicated the view of the drop-off to his right. "As soon as you round the rock formation you have a view of the trail and the rest of this valley. The next site is a fair way down that trail, but it's downhill, so we should make decent time."

Charlie started up the trail with his notebook. "I'm going to run up and take a quick look."

"Whoa," said Don, rising to his feet, "wait a minute. Just take a rest; we'll be up there soon enough."

Charlie turned to face him, backing up the trail as he talked. "Don't worry, look, you can see it from here – I'll be right there."

Edgerton spoke quietly. "I can't imagine anyone trying anything there – you can see for hundreds of yards from that vantage point, in both directions." Charlie turned and jogged up the trail.

Don sat down slowly, watching as Charlie disappeared into a section of trees ahead. He saw him reappear up higher, near the base of the outcrop, and then lost view of him again as the trail swung to the right. He was extremely uncomfortable with the situation, but no one else appeared to be. He remembered the looks he had gotten the day before, when he had scolded Charlie for running on ahead. '_Maybe I'm over-reacting,'_ he thought. He saw Charlie wander back into view at the base of the rock formation, and then back out of sight into the trees to the right, and he relaxed a little, realizing that his brother was right there, behind the trees, but staying close to the rock formation.

Charlie walked around the base of the rock outcrop. The side toward the group was actually more like thirty feet high, and there was a section to the right of it that was about twenty feet high. He eyed it, walking around, thinking that it wouldn't too difficult to climb up to get a better view, but when he followed the trail around it; the view was good enough that he realized he didn't need to. The trail skirted the rock formation closely, and turned left and descended. The cliffs continued all the way down on the left side, and the valley to the right.

Charlie stood for a moment, enjoying the view and the late afternoon sunlight, and then backed up against a huge pine, and jotted down a few notes. He heard a sudden noise behind him and he jumped, heart pounding, glancing around the right side of the tree behind him at the hillside. A squirrel bounded away down the hill through the underbrush, each leap sounding like a footstep. He grinned wryly to himself, looking back down at his notes, feeling a little foolish. He heard another rustle, this one closer to the tree, on his left, and he smiled again. Squirrels. Pulling himself away from the trunk slowly, still looking at his notes, he began to step away from the tree. Something caught his peripheral vision, and he turned, not quite in time to catch the source of the sudden movement. He felt a blinding pain in his head, and his world exploded, turning suddenly white, then dark.

--------------------------End Chapter 5----------------------------------------------------


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

A few moments had passed since Don had last seen his brother, and his discomfort was increasing. He rose, picked up his pack and Charlie's, and looked at Edgerton. "Maybe we'd better get going."

Edgerton had been poring over the map, and looked up, nodding. "Yeah, we have a little further to go than I thought. We want to get to the next site while the light's still good."

Don glanced up at the outcropping, hardly able to contain himself, while the rest of them slowly stretched, and picked up their packs. '_Let's go, let's go,'_ he thought. He knew he would feel foolish when he got up there and found Charlie, but he couldn't shake the irrational fear in his gut, and he took off on the trail ahead of the rest of them, lugging his brother's pack.

The fear intensified as he approached the outcropping. No Charlie. Quickening his steps, he rounded the outcropping quickly, and looked down the empty trail to his left. He whirled in confusion, facing the group as they came up the trail, panic on his face. "Where in the hell did he go?" he asked no one in particular.

Edgerton frowned and looked down to their right at the valley, scanning it for movement, then walked around the outcrop and looked down the trail and at the other side of the valley. Nothing. His frown deepened. "We should be able to see him from here; we have a clear view." He looked back down the trail and continued his thought. "Unless he went on down the trail – there's another little bend down there, or he could have stepped beside a tree." He looked at Don. "Relax; if anything had happened, we would see it from here. He's probably just down the trail a bit."

Don gritted his teeth. "If he's playing with us, I'm going to kill him." He started down the trail at a quick pace, and the rest of them stepped hurriedly in behind him. Going down was much faster, and they covered distance quickly. By now, they were all feeling uneasy, and everyone was scanning their surroundings.

They reached the bend in the trail, and went a good distance beyond, before Edgerton stopped them. "He couldn't have come this far without us seeing him. Once we got beyond that bend in the line of sight, we should have been able to pick him up. He didn't come this way." Edgerton looked back at the rock formation, which now seemed a long way above them. "We need to go back up."

David studied the cliffs beside them, and the rock formation beyond. "Maybe he went climbing on the rocks and fell. There's a crevice between the rock formation and the cliffs."

Don stared at him, his face white. "Right. He must be up there somewhere," he said, as if trying to convince himself.

They swung back on the trail, urgency driving them, but the climb was steep. By the time they reached the top again, they were gasping for breath. Edgerton looked at his watch, and then out over the valley, scanning it for signs of movement. '_That took us thirty-five minutes,'_ he thought. The valley was narrow at that point. Could someone get across it in thirty-five minutes? Don was heading toward the rock formation, starting to climb, and Edgerton followed him, casting a look over his shoulder at the others. "Take a look around the base."

He pulled to the top of the formation, just in time to see Don bend over and pick up Charlie's notebook. The area on top was relatively flat and mostly bare, but here and there were tufts of grass. Don sidled to the edge and looked down, his heart pounding, and Edgerton joined him. There was an unobstructed view of the crevice, and clearly no Charlie. Don groaned. "What the hell? Where is he?"

Edgerton frowned; something had caught his eye on the other side of the rock they were standing on. He walked over; then said quietly, "Eppes." Don walked over to him and his heart lurched. There on the rock, next to a muddy area, was a spot of blood, and in the mud, the familiar outline of a large boot. Don paled, and sank slowly to his knees. "Oh God," he whispered.

Edgerton took his arm. "Come on, we need to get moving." Somehow Don managed the climb down, not even quite remembering how he did it, the rising panic inside scrambling coherent thought. At the bottom, they were met by David, his face grim.

He held a softball sized rock out to them. "We found this by that tree." A few dark curly hairs were plastered to it by a bit of scalp and blood, waving softly in the breeze. Don took one look, stricken, stumbled back to the rock wall and leaned on it for support, still clutching Charlie's notebook, chest heaving.

Edgerton's face was dark. "The son of a bitch had him up on the rock; we walked right past them." He moved quickly down the trail, barking orders over his shoulder. "Spread out along the trail. He must have taken off across the valley as soon as we passed. Look for footprints, drag marks -," he broke off, as he spotted something at the edge of the trail. "Here! He headed across here –," he looked up at Don, who stared back in agony, momentarily paralyzed by overwhelming fear. "Come on, grab the packs, we need to move, now!" Edgerton plunged over the edge of the hill, eyes searching the ground in front of him, as the rest of them scrambled behind.

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He had clambered down the rock with the young man after they left. This one was light, he thought, like a boy. That was good, good that he was light, good that he was a boy. He had to teach that boy a lesson – why did he run off in the woods like that? "What in the hell did you think you were doing, you lil' sonofabitch?" he growled, slurring the words like a drunk. He grinned crazily, hauling the body behind him down the slope, holding it by the neck of the jacket. When he got to the bottom, he lifted the body and slung it over his shoulder, effortlessly, his strength driven by insanity, slogging across a creek, and up the hill beyond.

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Edgerton paused, searching the ground. It had been easy to follow the drag marks down the hill, the muddy boot prints by the creek, and the indentations in the opposite hillside. Cresting the ridge, they had started into another valley. The ground was rockier here, harder. Sign was becoming scarce, and their pace was slowing significantly. He looked closely, and saw an overturned rock, then up ahead, a broken twig. The rest followed silently, faces grim, except for Don, who paced back and forth behind Edgerton like a caged lion, maddened by the slow pace.

Edgerton stopped and faced him, grabbing both arms, and looked into his face. "You need to follow in my exact footsteps. If I need to backtrack, and you're crossing the trail like that, you can destroy any chance I have of picking it up again."

Don rubbed his hand over the top of his head impatiently, his face a study in misery. "It's just – we're not going fast enough."

Edgerton looked at him for a moment, saying nothing. He knew that himself. "We're going as fast as we can," he replied quietly, and turned back to the trail.

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Charlie lifted his head slightly, and groaned. He was dimly aware that he was sitting, his head hanging over his chest, so heavy. He tried to bring his hands to his face, but they were held by something, and he opened his eyes with an effort. They immediately closed; and he tried again, lifting his head slightly at the same time. The forest whirled around him, and he shut his eyes again, nauseated. He paused for a moment, taking deep breaths, and opened his eyes again, staring at his lap until the whirling stopped. He was sitting, he thought again. Sitting in the woods. He could feel a tree at his back; his arms were pulled around it behind him.

He looked around, dazed, fighting to clear the fog from his thoughts. Something was holding his hands; he twisted them, feeling rope on his wrists, then craned his neck to look over his shoulder. His hands were tied – not together, the tree was too big – but a rope connected one hand to the other behind him, around the tree. He realized it almost absently; then his heart contracted with sudden fear, as he grasped the significance of it. His breath quickened, and he turned his head slowly, scanning the forest around him. He was in some kind of small canyon, sheer walls rising around him; that was wooded in the center. His jacket was gone; the sun was setting and it was getting cool, and he shivered uncontrollably.

There was something to his right, and he stared at it, trying to make it out, and gasped in sudden terror as he realized it was a legless corpse. Now he recognized the leg parts scattered around it; the breath left him and his heart pounded, his face twisted with shock. He writhed against his bonds, as screaming split the air, realizing after a moment it was coming from him. "Don! Somebody! Please!" It ended in a half-sob, half-whisper, as he stared in mesmerized horror at the remains of the person beside him.

His heart leapt in fear at the sound of running footsteps behind him, and he shrank against the tree, as an apparition vaulted in front of him. It was Nathan Mansour, he realized immediately, but the man was almost unrecognizable. His hair was longer, tangled and matted; he had a few days growth of scraggly beard, and his eyes shone bright with madness. A dirty hand clamped over Charlie's mouth, and Mansour peered into his face. "Shh!" he hissed. "No noise!"

He turned and rummaged behind him in a pack, pulling out a roll of duct tape, and stripped off a piece. Charlie twisted away, but Mansour grabbed him by the hair, and pushed his head against the tree with his shoulder, pinning him in place. He smoothed the duct tape over Charlie's mouth; then grabbed his face with both hands, peering into Charlie's terrified eyes. "You were bad to run away," whispered Mansour. "You were gone too long. You need to be punished."

He turned and straddled Charlie's legs facing his feet, and reached beside him. Next to Charlie's feet was a dirty towel, with tools and other objects on it – rope, wire and wire cutters, a knife, a saw – Charlie's stomach clutched in terror as he realized what they were for. He twisted his body, trying to move his legs, but Mansour's weight held him firmly, and he tied a length of rope just below Charlie's knees, binding his legs together.

He pulled off Charlie's boots and his socks, and shifting his body, sat closer to Charlie's ankles. Picking up the wire and something that looked like a simple corkscrew with a wooden handle, he threaded a loop of wire through a hole in the object's metal stem, and holding Charlie's foot firmly, looped the wire around Charlie's big toe. Twisting the wooden handle, he tightened the loop of wire until it bit into the skin, then snipped off the end with the wire cutters. Charlie stifled a moan of pain, trying to fight down a rising tide of nausea.

Mansour worked carefully, fastidiously tying off each toe, and then moved on to the ankles. The wire dug into Charlie's bare skin, and blood ran down his feet and his ankles. Mansour chose heavier wire and a larger tool for the knees and legs, but performed the same procedure, placing the wire above each knee and at Charlie's upper thighs, right over the fabric of his jeans. He left the rope in place below Charlie's knees, binding his legs together, but it wouldn't have mattered much; Charlie was already starting to lose the feeling in his feet, and he realized with dread that his legs would soon follow. The blood was pounding painfully in his thighs, and his breath was coming in ragged gasps as Mansour finished and faced him.

"Now you will be marked," he said. He stood and walked over near the other body, and returned holding something in both hands. Kneeling in front of Charlie, he placed the contents of his hands carefully in Charlie's lap. Charlie stared, not comprehending at first, then writhed in terror as he realized that he had the dead man's toes on his lap. He bucked wildly, trying to get them off, screaming through the tape. Mansour screamed back, something unintelligible, and raised his arm. A powerful backhand hit Charlie in the face and he slumped, stunned.

His head was spinning, and he shook it to clear it. He was starting to tremble uncontrollably, and he looked up in helpless terror to see Mansour unsheathing a wicked hunting knife with a curved blade. Mansour walked toward him on his knees until he could reach Charlie's chest, and pulling the neck of his T-shirt, he slit the shirt open to the navel. Charlie gasped as Mansour placed the knife at his right collarbone, and then groaned, the noise muffled by the tape, as the knife dug in and pulled across his chest and down toward his ribs. Blood immediately ran from the slash; he could feel it trickling down his chest and stomach, and he moaned again as Mansour repeated the crosswise cut, starting at his left collar bone.

Mansour surveyed the bloody X on Charlie's chest; then grabbed his face, looking into Charlie's eyes with mad intensity. "Now you are marked," he hissed. "It must be finished." He left the knife lying on Charlie's lap, and rose, carefully gathering the dead man's toes; then the remainder of his body, placing all of the parts in a blood-stained burlap sack. Slinging the sack over his shoulder, he paused, looking down at Charlie.

This time when he spoke his voice changed, tinged with a southwestern accent and with a slur to his words. "I'm gonna kill you, you 'lil son of a bitch. That'll teach you fer runnin' off." He sneered, and turned, headed for the end of the canyon. Charlie watched him go in a haze of terror, fighting against the shock that threatened to steal his consciousness.

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Edgerton stopped, standing still in the gathering twilight; and slowly turned to face the group behind him. He looked for a moment at Don; then spoke quietly. "We need to stop. It's getting too dark to continue."

"NO," said Don, striding forward to face him. "We can't – we can't just stop. We have flashlights -,"

"We have to," replied Edgerton steadily, "I'll lose the trail. If I do that, we'll be further off in the morning than we are now. Flashlights won't work – the shadows distort things. We need to stop. I'm sorry."

Don stared at him, breathing heavily. The thought of Charlie, lying helpless somewhere in the night, tore at him, and fear and grief rose up in his chest. He turned, looking back and forth between Edgerton and his team. "Does anybody –," the words came out hoarsely and he started again. "Does anybody know how long – how long before tourniquets -," he couldn't finish. "How long will his legs last?" he finally managed.

Colby glanced at his teammates, then at Don. "I don't know the answer to that for sure," he said slowly, "but when they trained us to use tourniquets in the military, the rule was no longer than six hours."

"Six," whispered Don, staring at nothing, his heart contracting in despair. Even if they found him alive, it would be too late to save his legs. He heard Edgerton ordering the others to set up camp, and felt Megan guiding him over to a log to sit. '_I knew I shouldn't have let him go up there alone. I knew it.' _He stared blankly, dimly aware of the last rays of the light peeking over the hilltop. "Charlie," he whispered. He raised his eyes in agony toward the last bit of sun, before it went sliding into darkness, and he felt his soul go with it.

---------------------------End Chapter 6---------------------------------------------------------


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Charlie shuddered with terror and cold, shaking uncontrollably. He stared at his legs with grim fascination, as if they belonged to someone else, his thoughts whirling, his mind staggered by the horror of it all. He knew vaguely that he was descending into a state of shock, and with a supreme effort, he pulled his mind back from the abyss, and tried to concentrate on the situation. His eyes fell on the bloody knife on his lap. If he could only get it in his hands somehow…despair beckoned again as he realized the helplessness of his situation and he squeezed his eyes shut, desperately fighting against the black fear that gripped him.

'_Come on, Charlie, think,'_ he commanded himself, frantically trying to grasp control. '_Don wouldn't sit here and panic; what would he do? Think. It's up to you now.'_ He opened his eyes, and shifted his arms experimentally. When he pulled with one hand, the rope tugged on his other hand, so the rope was not secured to anything, he realized, just tied around the tree.

If he shifted his hips, he could move a bit in either direction, and if he did that enough times in the same direction, he could move all the way around the tree if he wanted to. The rope had enough slack so that he could move his hands up and down the trunk a bit – as far down as the ground, and up as far as his shoulders would allow.

He frowned in concentration. His body could move 360º around the y-axis, and his hands could move a few inches up and down the y-axis. So what did that get him? One hand still couldn't reach the other, and neither could reach the rest of his body. He stared again at the knife in his lap, and his heart leapt as a sudden inspiration struck him.

Leaning sideways, he tilted his hips, carefully sliding the knife off, as close to the base of the tree as he could. It landed a few inches away, and he nudged it closer to the trunk with his hip, so that it was almost touching. He began shifting away from it, moving his hips slightly, inch by inch. It was slow going; his legs were fast becoming a dead weight, and he had to rely on small movements of his torso and hips to make progress.

Finally, he was about a quarter of the way around the tree, and he estimated that he had reached a point where his left hand should be near the knife. He reached down carefully, trembling; if he knocked the knife out of reach, he would need to move it back into place with his hip – it would mean starting all over again.

His hand touched ground. Nothing. He shifted his hips again, moving slightly, gently probing with his fingertips – there. He felt it, but was not quite in a position to grip it; he lifted his hand and shifted his position a bit more, then reached down and his fingers closed on the handle.

He gasped in relief and triumph. Now for the hard part, he thought. He adjusted the knife carefully in his grip, pointing the blade back toward the outside of his forearm. He pressed down with the blade on the rope on his left wrist, and bent his wrist back and forth in small sawing motions.

He could feel small strands of the rope start to give, and he took in a deep breath as hope and relief mingled with the terror and anxiety. As the knife bit deeper into the rope, it also started cutting into the skin of his palm and his forearm, but he was so intent on freedom he barely noticed it, sawing with faster motions as the blood dripped off of his arm.

As he got down to the final few strands, the knife was making deeper cuts in his arm, and he began to gasp in pain. He tried pulling his arm to break the strands, but they still held. Gritting his teeth, he bore down with the knife, groaning as it bit into his skin. He suddenly felt the last strands give, his arms relaxed, and he sat stunned for minute, rendered motionless by the pain and the realization of his sudden freedom.

He came to his sense with a start, and whipped his hands in front of him, inserting the knife under the rope on his right wrist and cutting in a frenzy. He was covered in blood – blood from his chest, blood dripping from his left hand and arm, but he was oblivious to it; all that mattered was getting out. He stripped the tape off his mouth impatiently, and pushed himself away from the tree with his hands, pushing his hips toward the towel, his legs a dead weight.

Reaching over, he grabbed the wire cutters. He had already lost all feeling in his legs, and he snipped frantically at the wires on his thighs and knees, stifling a moan as the blood rushed painfully into his legs. He sliced through the rope at his knees, and grabbing one leg by the ankle, lifted it carefully, and laid it crossed over his other leg. The wires on his ankles and toes bit into his skin, and he had no choice but to dig under his skin with the wire cutters to get to them, opening cuts in his ankle and on each toe. Thankfully, his feet were numb, and the sense of urgency overrode any reluctance he had at the self-mutilation. Finally, his feet were free of the wires.

His legs were recovering quickly; they were stiff but moving, but his feet were another story. He rolled over, crawling toward his boots, which were just beyond the towel. He sat and massaged his feet frantically, hands slippery with blood, finally starting to gain a little feeling, then shoved them into his boots and tried to stand. He made it to his feet, but collapsed on the first step, falling on his hands and knees. Desperately he tried again and again, rising and falling forward, scrambling on his knees, moving toward the end of the canyon. Bit by bit, as the circulation returned, he gained more control, and by the time he reached the thick growth at the end of the canyon, he was on his feet, staggering, but moving forward.

He paused for a moment as he faced the wall of growth. Was there actually an opening there? It looked as if the walls of the canyon were unbroken behind the trees. There must be a way out, he reasoned, Mansour went this way. He pushed his way through, fighting thick scratching branches of pine, moving faster, with more desperation, until he finally plunged out on the other side. The rock walls of the canyon rose behind him and there was a thin bit of trail in front of him, but he was moving so quickly that he overshot it, and he tumbled over the edge of a slope.

He plunged down the grade, hitting rocks and trees on way, and finally came to a stunned stop at the bottom. Subconsciously, he knew that his mind wasn't working correctly; it was overwhelmed with shock, pain and terror, but instinct took over. The need to get as far away from that place as he could overwhelmed all other thoughts, and he clambered to his feet, and staggered desperately away through the forest, running, stumbling, crawling, moving as quickly as he could through the moonlit trees.

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Megan couldn't sleep. She lifted her head from her sleeping bag, and looked over at Don's motionless form. He was still sitting on the log that she had guided him to earlier. He had refused to eat, refused to go to sleep, and insisted that he would stay up and keep watch. Megan could only imagine the demons that were keeping him company, and shivering; she crept from her bag, pulled on her jacket, and stepped quietly over to join him.

His face was in shadow, but she could see his breath on the cold air, illuminated by the moonlight. She sat, and glanced at his profile. From this new position, she could see the silvery glint of tears reflected on his cheeks, and she felt a painful stab of sympathy. She said nothing, just put an arm around him, and they sat in silence for a moment.

He spoke suddenly, a whisper ragged with pain. "I should never have let him go up there."

Megan sighed and shook her head gently. "Don, you couldn't have known, none of us could. Edgerton knew the area; even he thought it was safe there. He was only a few yards up the trail."

Don shook his head. None of them would understand, he thought. Charlie wasn't one of them, he didn't think like them. The amazing power of his mind, his ability to focus on a problem to the exclusion of all else, was also his biggest shortcoming – it made him vulnerable in real-world situations, when quick reactions and keen senses were needed. Don had felt that difference instinctively since he was a child. When he was younger, it frustrated him to no end; he couldn't understand how his brother could be so brilliant in some situations, and so clueless in others.

When he had come back from Albuquerque, and really began for the first time to get to know Charlie, he started to realize both how amazing his brother's mind really was, and at the same time how limited. With age came understanding; Charlie still could frustrate him to be sure; but Don slowly began to comprehend what his brother could and could not control. Social situations, physical situations; were Charlie's vulnerable areas, but Don's strength, and he felt instinctively that it was his duty to protect his younger brother. Some people would argue that it was not his responsibility; sometimes he chafed at it himself, but rightly or wrongly, he couldn't escape it. It was part of him, and as their relationship deepened, so did his protectiveness.

He couldn't explain it, so he didn't try. In his own mind he accepted it; he was responsible, he had failed his brother, and the knowledge would haunt him for the rest of his life.

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Charlie staggered on through the forest, aimlessly at first, but gradually some rational thought returned, not total clarity – he was in too much pain, too much fear, and too cold for that – but the thought that he needed to move with some direction was taking hold. He was shivering violently; his torn and blood soaked T-shirt flapped at his chest, and he clasped his arms around himself, trying to hold in some heat. He remembered reading that someone lost in the woods would tend to travel in a circle, so he tried to orient himself by looking at the position of the moon, and picking out landmarks ahead.

From time to time he thought he would hear a noise, and he would stop in panic, heart beating painfully, listening. Each time it was nothing, and finally the frigid air would drive him on. He knew he had to keep moving to stay alive – aside from the threat posed by Mansour, stopping and resting in the cold would be a death sentence.

He had come to a flat area at the bottom of a valley; he could see large stretches of what looked like grass and he started to cross, grateful for the flatter terrain. The moon illuminated the setting, and crossing the open ground, he suddenly felt exposed. He looked behind him, and then across.

To the side of him, a distance away, were stands of trees. It wasn't the most direct way forward, but he figured that they would provide needed cover. Heading for a tree line, he began carefully pick his way through the trees and shrubs. He had gotten close to halfway across the valley, when he picked up the sound of running water. Heart sinking, he pushed his way forward, praying for a way across.

He came up to a stream; it was about twenty feet across, but he noted in relief that it was shallow. In the moonlight he could see water a few inches deep covering sand at the edges, and rocks stuck out in the middle of the stream, so he knew it was probably only between ankle and knee deep. The moon illuminated the sandy patches, making them look white against the dark rocks. He walked up and down the bank looking at the water, shivering, knowing that he had to try to find the shallowest point, to stay as dry as possible.

He finally decided on a path, and stepped around a boulder onto the sand. The water swirling over the sand was only about three inches deep. There was a boulder in front of him and another large sandy patch behind it, and he stepped over it carefully onto the sand; only to suddenly plunge to his chest in the icy water. There was no bottom, and he turned instinctively and pulled himself out on the boulder, drenched, shivering in shock, panic enveloping him in a delayed reaction. '_What happened?' _he thought wildly. '_There was sand there!' _

He stood cautiously and backed out of the stream, staring in disbelief as the water cleared and what he had thought was sand reappeared. Shaking violently, he bent and grabbed a large stick, and stepping forward cautiously, he probed the sand with the stick. The sand on the side of the boulder closest to him was firm, but when he tried the same thing on the other side of the boulder, the stick plunged in easily, tendrils of sand drifting around it in the water. '_There must be an underground spring bubbling up through it_,' he thought, his teeth chattering, and then in shock, _'That's quicksand!'_

He stood for a moment in despair, shaking, trying to decide what to do. He realized he had no choice. He was already wet; it didn't matter where he crossed. He moved down the bank to a less sandy spot, and probing carefully with the stick in front of him, picked his way across. By the time he got to the other side, he knew he was in a desperate situation; he was shuddering violently and his hands were going numb. He clambered out onto the other bank, shaking in uncontrollable spasms, and staggered forward, unconsciously heading to the right, along the river. '_Have to keep moving,' _he told himself.

An hour or so before dawn, he was still moving, but no longer in control of his faculties. His body temperature had dropped to the point that hallucinations had set in, and he staggered and wandered aimlessly, stumbling, falling and pushing himself to his feet again. Each time, getting up was more of an effort; it would be so nice just to lie there, to sleep, but each time, he drove himself up onto his feet again. He no longer consciously even knew why – he had a vague notion that he was looking for Don, but even that thought was elusive.

He could feel fear and desperation hovering in the back of his mind, but the feelings were growing more distant, like they belonged to someone else. He crossed a section of ground, not realizing that he had been there before, unconscious on Mansour's shoulder; and fell sprawling, and then began struggling up the slope that had materialized in front of him. It took nearly his last ounce of his strength to make it up, and he crawled over to a tree on his hands and knees and tried to pull himself up to his feet, managing to get only part way before he collapsed, twisting; sliding to a sitting position with the trunk at his back.

He was no longer shivering; he felt warm and sleepy, and he closed his eyes. A slight frown appeared on his face, something told him he couldn't stay there, but his body told him otherwise, so he lay against the tree in the frigid pre-dawn darkness, his mind slipping into oblivion.

---------------------------------End Chapter 7----------------------------------------------


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Edgerton awoke just before dawn, rousing to an internal clock. According to old habit, he lay silently, not moving for a moment, taking in his surroundings before he made his presence known. He could see Don's silhouette over by the log; he was now standing, leaning against a tree with his head back. The moon had retired, and it was darker now than it had been, but Edgerton could smell the dawn, and he slipped quietly from his sleeping bag.

Unlike Don, Edgerton had little emotional attachment to Charlie; he liked him well enough, to be sure, and had come to admire his phenomenal mind, but he was distant enough that emotion would not cloud his judgment. Emotional attachments were dangerous and unnecessary baggage to Edgerton, and he had made it a practice to avoid them. His focus was always his mission; which was in this case to eliminate a killer before he could cause more harm. He turned his mind to the mechanics of preparing for the search as he stepped forward to stoke the fire.

Don looked at Edgerton, uncomprehending for a moment that it was close to daybreak; then realizing that it must be, looked at his watch, illuminating the dial. He had spent the night in a haze of despair, and suddenly, realizing that the sun would be up and they could begin searching, the despair was replaced by a horrible anxiety – anxiety to get moving, anxiety at what they might find when they did. He stepped over to the fire to help, trying to make things move faster, trying to hide his shaking hands.

Upon hearing the sounds at the fire, the rest of them rose from their bags silently, looking like ghosts in the grayness. Colby, his military training showing, efficiently packed his things. Megan stood for a moment, watching Don, then realized that Colby was doing the thing that would help Don the most; getting ready to move, and she joined him. The grayness was turning from near black to a moderate dimness, and by the time they were done, the sky had lightened enough that they could see each others' faces.

That was small comfort. '_We all look like zombies,'_ thought David. He could see tension warring with despair in Don's face, and he wished mightily that he could somehow shoulder some of that burden, and was saddened by the fact that he couldn't. No one spoke, or at least very little; they grabbed a quick cup of coffee, with the exception of Don, who paced instead. Finally, it was light enough to see the trail, and gathering their packs, they moved out of the campsite into the thinning grayness like a funeral procession.

Edgerton studied the ground intently. The trail was a bit colder; overturned bits of earth had started to dry, making it harder to pick up sign. He moved carefully, following the trail over a hill, and down into yet another small vale. The trail led through a grassy area, skirting a ridge. This was quicker going; the grass was knee deep and it was easy to see where Mansour had beaten it down. He was moving so quickly through this section, and Don was so close on his heels that when he suddenly stopped, Don almost ran into the back of him. Edgerton stood staring intently at the ground with his hand up, warning them to stay back.

"What?" asked Don impatiently, unbearable tension rising in his chest.

Edgerton frowned and pointed. "Blood." He looked side to side, head swiveling, eyes burning as he took in the sign. "Another trail crosses the one we're following. You can see blood there, to our right, and here in front of us. There's a large indentation in the grass; someone sat or lay down here." He looked to his left up the ridge. "The trail goes up that ridge."

He knelt and touched the red stains on the grass. "It's fresh." He stepped to his right, following the trail backward, hoping for softer ground, and was rewarded with a fuzzy outline of a boot in the grass– too distorted to determine the size, but definitely a human footprint. "There's a footprint here," he said, "This was made by a person."

He stood and faced Don. "We have a choice to make. We need to choose which of these to follow."

Don stared back at him, looking as though Edgerton had asked him to stand on his hands. He shook his head in confusion. "Which one brings us to Charlie?"

"I can't tell you that. The trail that we were on is Mansour and Charlie, we know that for sure. We don't know who left this new trail, but it is much fresher. If it's connected to Mansour, we may find Charlie faster by following the new one."

Don looked ahead at the trail they had been following, and then up the ridge. He closed his eyes, and rubbed at them, indecision plain on his face. '_I can't think,'_ he agonized. He knew that the original trail was certainly Charlie's, but he felt beyond all reason that they should follow the other one. He opened his eyes. "Can we come back here if we need to?" Edgerton nodded. Don took a deep breath. "Then I say up the hill."

Edgerton led the way forward without a word. That would have been his choice also, but he needed to allow Eppes to make the decision. His brother's life was at stake, and at the moment, Don's call was the only one that mattered. They climbed the hill in single file, gathering in a group at the top, finding themselves on a part of the hiking trail. It was more wooded than the field they had just come from, and the light was dimmer. Edgerton peered at the ground, looking for blood, but jerked his head up at Colby's sudden exclamation.

"Look – by that tree – there's someone there – holy crap, that looks like Charlie!"

Don started forward; then froze. In the dimness, and with the way Charlie was laying against the tree, he couldn't tell if he was still whole. His heart stopped as the others surged forward, knowing that he couldn't bear the sight of it. In spite of what his mind was telling him, his legs began somehow moving of their own accord, and as he approached the group, and heard, "He's alive!" relief flooded him. His knees buckled as he reached his brother, and he landed on them hard at Charlie's side.

He moaned softly as he took in his brother's appearance. Charlie was pale, covered in blood; his hands purple, his lips blue. He heard Edgerton say "Hypothermia" and he was jolted to consciousness, as Colby barked orders to the others, his military training kicking in.

"We need to get these wet clothes off him and get him in a sleeping bag," said Colby. "Get him some dry clothes, but not too many – just a T-shirt and some boxers." Don turned, galvanized, and tore into Charlie's pack, pulling out clothes. Colby stripped Charlie's T-shirt from his limp body, and they all paused, staring horrified at the slash marks on his chest. Colby turned to Megan, who stood rooted to the spot. "Megan," he said quietly.

Megan looked at him in confusion, then in understanding. "Oh, right," she said, turning away, as Don began to unbutton Charlie's pants.

Edgerton looked down the trail at a clearing. "I'll start a fire. Megan, help me gather some wood." They took off at a trot, grabbing wood and kindling on the way.

Colby and David each took a leg, pulling off boots, socks and pants with one movement, and for a moment none of them moved, stricken by the sight of the ligature marks around Charlie's legs, the cuts around his ankles and toes. Tears started in Don's eyes, and he grabbed his brother's lifeless body and pulled him to him instinctively. Charlie's skin was ice cold, and he leaned his brother's body against his chest and wrapped his arms around him.

"That's good," said Colby. "Try to keep him warm." He and David finished changing him; putting Charlie in dry boxers and helping Don slide a dry T shirt over his head. Colby looked at them. "Who has the biggest sleeping bag?"

"Probably Charlie," whispered Don. He cleared his throat, trying to choke out the words. "He's claustrophobic – he can't stand to be confined – his bag is bigger than mine."

"Okay," said Colby, and he pulled at the straps on Charlie's pack, releasing the sleeping bag on top of it. He rolled it open, and the three of them gently pulled it up around Charlie's limp body. "Let's get him over to the fire." Don put his hands under Charlie's shoulders, making sure to capture the sleeping bag, and supporting his brother's head against his body, he rose, as Colby grabbed Charlie's feet. They sidled awkwardly to the fire, trying not to jostle their cargo, and laid Charlie gently down next to it. Don squatted down next to him, hovering anxiously. Charlie's face was lifeless, so pale the skin looked almost translucent, making the bruise on his cheek and his purple lips stand out in bold contrast.

Edgerton eyed him. "He needs body heat."

Colby nodded, and looked at Don. "He'll warm up faster with someone in there with him."

Don looked up at them. "Right," he said, and pulled off his boots and his jacket.

Colby squatted down, helping him with the bag. "Turn him on his side, facing the fire," he said, "and get in behind him." Don squeezed in the bag as instructed, and wrapped his arms around Charlie. His body felt cool, and his limbs were like ice.

Don shivered involuntarily at the contact, and felt a sudden panic. Was he still alive? He reached for Charlie's neck, searching for a pulse. It was there, but felt unusually slow.

Colby saw Don put his hand on Charlie's neck and looked at his watch. "Let's get a BPM," he said. "Count." Don counted, as Colby's watch ticked off 10 seconds. "Stop."

"Five," said Don. Colby frowned and looked at Edgerton. "Thirty."

Don's own heart skipped a beat. Even to him, that sounded dangerously low. "What's normal?"

"Roughly, 60 to 100," said Edgerton quietly. "It'll speed up. Give it time."

'_Is he talking about my heart or Charlie's?' _wondered Don miserably, as he felt his pulse quicken in anxiety. He wrapped his arms more securely around Charlie, as if to keep him from leaving. He could feel his brother's light breathing, also too slow, and the stickiness of blood on his arm. "Come on, Charlie," he whispered.

They stayed that way for what seemed like an eternity. Edgerton kept stoking the fire, which grew hotter, and the sun made its appearance over the ridge. The air temperature started to warm up, but Charlie remained inert. Don was nearly panicking, when he suddenly felt Charlie stir slightly. "Charlie?"

The others' heads whipped up from the fire, staring at Charlie intently. He stirred again, moaning softly; eyes still closed, and began shuddering uncontrollably. "What's happening?" asked Don, looking at them wildly. He held his brother more tightly, as if that would stop the shaking.

"That's a good sign," said Edgerton. "His body temperature has come up to a point where he's starting to shiver again."

Charlie's eyes fluttered open; then closed again. He caught a glimpse of the fire, and felt the arms wrapped tightly around him. Visions floated through his mind, foremost among them Mansour's leering face. Mansour had him again, he realized in panic as he felt the arms around his body. He was pushing him into the fire.

Don felt Charlie twist and begin flailing, and he tried to hold him steady. He was completely unprepared for the ragged scream that tore from his brother's mouth. Charlie began thrashing wildly in the sleeping bag, and Colby, David and Megan rushed forward.

"Charlie!" cried Don, desperately trying to hold his brother. "Charlie, it's okay!"

"Nooo," moaned Charlie, eyes opened but unfocused. "Please -," Other faces swam in his vision, familiar ones, and his thrashing weakened as he stared, trying to comprehend where he was. He felt the arms release, and felt his body turn slightly as the presence behind him moved, and his back gently met the ground. He was still shaking, but his vision cleared a bit more, and he looked up into the eyes of his brother. He stared a moment, not comprehending how he came to be there, but the realization that he was actually staring at his brother slowly dawned on him. "D- Don?" he whispered haltingly.

"Yeah, Buddy, it's okay now," said Don, his eyes filling with tears of relief. "It's gonna be okay."

"'kay," repeated Charlie, his eyes riveted on his brother. He stared heavy-lidded at Don as the shivering slowed, trying vainly to keep his eyes open. Exhaustion finally won the battle, and his eyes closed slowly as he drifted into a deep sleep.

---------------------------End Chapter 8-------------------------------------------------


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Outpost 2, this is Search Team. Do you copy? Over." Edgerton spoke into the radio, repeating his message, listening to a light crackle of static. As he had predicted, none of their cell phones picked up in the park; they were dependent on the radios. He had stepped away down the trail a few feet to keep from waking Charlie, and as he walked back toward the fire he looked at Don and shook his head. "We're either still too far out, or they don't have anyone at the trailhead right now."

David, Colby and Megan were holding a quiet conversation on the other side of the fire. "What I want to know," David said, looking at Charlie, "is how in the heck did he get away? How did he get out of all that?"

Colby snorted softly in agreement. "It had to be one hell of a Houdini act, that's for sure."

Don stared at his sleeping brother. After Charlie had stopped shivering and drifted off, he had eased out of the sleeping bag, but he hadn't moved from Charlie's side. Megan had finally talked him into eating something, and he choked down a protein bar, hardly aware he was doing it, as he stared at his brother. Charlie's face was still pale, but his lips had returned to a normal color, and he was peaceful in repose. Don dreaded waking him, shattering that peace, but he knew they would need to eventually.

Eventually was now, he realized as he saw Edgerton look at his watch and frown. "It's almost noon," said Ian. "We need to get moving. We have almost a two-day hike to get out of here."

Colby looked at Don. "We need to take a look at his injuries." At his words, Megan rummaged in her pack; she was packing the first aid kit. She brought it over to Don, and Colby stepped over and squatted beside Charlie.

"I'll do it," said Don quietly. He pushed forward onto his knees and laid a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Charlie." He shook his brother's shoulder gently. "Charlie. You need to wake up."

Charlie's eyelids fluttered, and closed again, then struggled open. He looked at Don in a stupor, confusion on his face.

"Charlie, we need to take care of your cuts," said Don gently. "Just lie still." He pulled down the top of the sleeping bag and gently lifted Charlie's T-shirt. The once clean shirt was already spotted with blood, soaked in some areas. Charlie stiffened, and his breathing quickened, but he said nothing. Don's heart caught again as he looked at the slash marks on his brother's chest, but he realized that Charlie's eyes were on him, and he tried to compose his face. Colby handed Don a clean rag that had been dipped in boiled water, and Don gently started cleaning sticky blood from Charlie's chest, starting near his collarbone.

Awareness of where he was and what had happened was returning, and Charlie closed his eyes, fighting panic. Mansour's face loomed in his mind; he could hear his voice. '_Now you will be marked.'_ He felt the pressure at his collarbone, felt the knife begin to cut. "No!" he gasped suddenly, pushing Don's hands away, his eyes flying open in terror.

Don stared at him, taken aback. "Charlie, we need to take care of this. These cuts need to be cleaned; you need bandages."

"No." Charlie's voice was strained, and he was breathing heavily. "I'm okay." In an attempt to prove it, he struggled up into a sitting position, yanking down his T-shirt, and folded his arms protectively in front of him. The movements had opened the cuts on his arm, and blood streamed from it, dripping onto the sleeping bag.

Don paused helplessly; then said, "At least let me take of your arm." Charlie sat still for a moment, staring at the ground; then lifted his arm, offering it silently to Don without moving his head.

Don shot a perturbed glance at Colby and Megan, and began to blot the blood on Charlie's hand and forearm, wiping as gently as he could. The cuts became apparent as he cleaned, and Edgerton watched with a frown. This was different, he thought, something they had not seen on the other victims. _'Vertical cuts,'_ he noted.If they had been on the inside of his forearm, he would have bled to death. He spoke quietly. "How'd you get those cuts on your arm, Charlie?"

Charlie glanced at him, pain and tension in his face; then looked back at the ground. "I did that," he said quietly.

They stared at him, and Don stopped for a moment in shock; then pulling himself together, began to wrap Charlie's wrist in gauze. He wanted to ask him more; desperately wanted to know what his brother had gone through, but he realized that Charlie was on shaky ground at the moment, and so he tried to act calmly, normally, hoping that it would reassure him. He finished with the arm, and tried again. "Charlie, I really need to look at your chest and your feet."

"No," whispered Charlie. He turned a pleading look on his brother, speaking quietly. "I'm fine. I just want to go."

Don sighed and contemplated the first aid kit. There was really no good way to bandage Charlie's chest anyway, not with the small amount of gauze that was left. Parts of the slash marks were very shallow, and were already beginning to close. The wounds needed to be disinfected, but he realized he wasn't willing to traumatize Charlie any further at the moment. Maybe he would calm down later, he thought. "Okay Charlie," he sighed. "On one condition." He handed him a protein bar and some water. "You eat something first."

Charlie nodded silently; shivering as the breeze suddenly kicked up, and pulled the sleeping bag to his chest. He was extremely thirsty, and he downed the water quickly. He had no interest in food, but accepted it as a condition of being allowed to leave, chewing mechanically, as quickly as he could. He was still driven by an overwhelming need to escape; and he fought hard against an irrational urge to jump up and start running down the trail. Instead, he accepted two sweatshirts, jeans and socks from his pack, and put them on, his hands shaking from the adrenaline in his veins and the terror in the back of his mind.

Everyone in the camp looked at his legs and feet, pretending not to; as he pushed off the sleeping bag to put on his jeans. Everyone but Edgerton; he made no pretense, openly staring at Charlie with his eyes narrowed as he put out the fire, making him writhe inwardly. Charlie himself couldn't look at his own legs; they brought back the memories of the night, memories that already lurked frightening close, threatening his grip on sanity. He gasped in relief when he had his boots on, and stood shakily, staggering as a wave of dizziness hit him.

"Whoa, Charlie," Don was there with a hand on his arm, steadying him. "Why didn't you tell me you were getting up?"

"I'm okay," gasped Charlie, as the trail spun, and then righted and settled. "Let's go."

Don peered at him. "Are you sure you're up for this?" Charlie looked at him, the unspoken plea back in his eyes, and nodded. Don stepped back, his eyes still on him, and shouldered his pack.

Megan stepped forward to Charlie and gave him a quick hug. "Didn't get to give you one of these yet," she said softly, and smiled at him reassuringly. "It's gonna be okay, Charlie." He nodded as if agreeing, but the anxiety in his face contradicted his response.

The stepped onto the trail in the same order in which they had started the journey; Edgerton and Megan in front; Don and Charlie in the middle of the group. Charlie moved slowly, stiffly, and Don hovered near him, occasionally supporting him with an arm. Edgerton felt the breeze pick up, and he glanced at the sky, frowning at the clouds on the horizon as they picked their way down the trail.

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Mansour plunged through the forest, breathing ragged, eyes alight with rage and panic. He had returned to the place, only to find him gone; the boy had run off again. He was not allowed to leave; he was marked. Once one was marked, it must be finished. He split the night with a horrible scream of fury and disappointment, tearing around in circles until he collapsed, a froth of spittle on his lips, his eyes glazed.

He lay that way panting, almost catatonic, until the sun began to rise, and he saw the blood on the ground. New hope sprang in his chest, and he had risen, staggering, his eyes seeking the droplets of blood. Now he was following the trail half bent, loping like wolf, breathing heavily. He followed it up the grassy slope, noticing that it was trampled down by several feet. They had found him, he reasoned, and were with him on the trail. No matter. He would find him, and bring him back. He muttered to himself as he ran, a thing possessed. _'He is marked, it must be finished.'_

--------------------End Chapter 9----------------------------------------------------------


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The trek was beginning to tell on all of them. They had split up the contents of Charlie's pack, and Colby had strapped Charlie's empty pack to his. David had rolled Charlie's sleeping bag and strapped it to his pack. The miles of travel and the extra weight were wearing on them all, and even though they were now traveling downhill most of the time, everyone was feeling the fatigue, the heaviness, the stress on their bodies.

That afternoon they had crossed the most difficult stretch, including the portion of the trail where they had to climb. Charlie was exhausted, and they had to lower him down on ropes; they couldn't trust him to make it down without falling otherwise. Don had no idea how Charlie was generating the strength to keep going. Each step seemed to be a huge effort, and his brother was pale; and breathing heavily. Still he managed to keep on until evening, driven by something other than the physical limits of his body.

The sky was gray, and dusk came early. As the light waned, Edgerton stopped at a section of trail overhung by cliffs. "It's going to rain tonight," he said quietly. "These cliffs will shelter us a bit." As if on cue, a few fat drops splattered down, and they hurried to build a fire and set up their lean-tos. Charlie sat on a log near the fire, hollow-eyed and spent, shivering, his shirt stuck to his chest, damp with blood. He could feel an almost unbearable anxiety rising as the light died, and another night in the forest approached.

He managed to get dinner down, another freeze-dried mystery meal that held no appeal, only because he knew he needed the energy for the next day. The rain had held off for the moment, and they sat by the fire, resting aching feet. Charlie shivered again, and Don rose and dug in his pack, trading his jacket for a sweatshirt, and draped his jacket over Charlie's shoulders. Charlie flashed him a grateful look, and Don sat wearily next to him.

Edgerton studied Charlie for a moment. "What do you remember when you woke up?" he asked, without warning.

Charlie's head jerked up, fear in his eyes. Megan frowned. "I'm not so sure he's ready to talk about this," she murmured.

Edgerton's eyes held Charlie's. "No time is ever a good time," he said; his voice expressionless. Don frowned at him and glanced at his brother.

Charlie was staring back at Ian as if mesmerized. He pulled his gaze away with an effort, and spoke to his feet. "I was in some kind of a canyon," he said, his face tense. "There were trees, but there were high rock walls all around it."

"It was Mansour?" Edgerton pressed gently.

Charlie blanched at the name and closed his eyes. "Yes," he whispered. He cleared his throat and looked at his feet again. "He wasn't there when I woke up, but he was close by."

He swallowed, and the next words came out so low they could hardly hear them. "There was a body." He closed his eyes, remembering. Mansour leapt into his vision, and he started to shake. Panicked, he opened his eyes to clear the image, his face contorted by terror. "I can't – I can't do this -," Don moved closer to him, concern in his face, and put an arm around his shoulders.

"We need information, Charlie," said Edgerton softly, insistently.

Don looked up at him, eyes blazing. "That's enough for now, Ian. We don't need it tonight." Edgerton fell silent, his face inscrutable. Don glared at him, and then looked back at Charlie. "You should probably get some sleep." Charlie nodded numbly, still trying to control the fear, and rose stumbling for the lean-to. Don stood, a residue of anger still on his face, and said shortly, "I'm going too. We'll see you in the morning."

It was a miserable night. The rain moved in after midnight with a vengeance, accompanied by gusting wind, thunder and lightening. The lean-tos were designed to keep off the dew and light rain, and were a poor match for the storm. Don put Charlie at the back of the lean -to, and tried to shelter him from the open side. The cliffs did help some, but even so, by the early hours of the morning, their sleeping bags were taking on moisture. Charlie was shivering uncontrollably, and Don, his own teeth chattering, threw an arm over him, pulling him close, trying to keep him as warm as possible.

They were up before dawn, too cold and too wet to sleep. Edgerton himself had gotten none; he had stationed himself under the cliffs and kept watch. They didn't bother with a fire; Edgerton was capable of conjuring one up out of wet wood, but no one wanted to wait. They each grabbed a protein bar from their dwindling cache of rations, and hit the trail before the sun was up, treading sodden ground.

Don glanced at Charlie with concern as they set out; he was pale and shivering, and looked even more exhausted than he had last night. He had tried to get Charlie to let him check his wounds before bed the night before, with no luck, and his brother's sleep had been interrupted by nightmares, and then by rain. He knew Charlie was on his last legs, both physically and emotionally, and he was anxious to get him back to civilization and help.

They stopped for lunch a little before noon, sinking wearily onto the ground under some trees. Lunch was protein bars again, and David looked at his with distaste.

"If I never see another one of these again, it'll be too soon," he said grimacing.

Charlie managed to choke his down under Don's watchful eye, and stretched his legs carefully. The cuts on his chest were throbbing and oozing, and his feet weren't much better. He was so exhausted he couldn't think straight, and he wanted to rest, but even more than that, he wanted to be out of the woods, away from what lurked in the trees.

He fought the urge to glance over his shoulder, and caught Edgerton watching him. He looked down quickly, hoping Ian would not use the moment of eye contact to start a conversation. He hadn't been able to assimilate the horror of what he had gone through; it was taking all of his efforts to keep from disintegrating into a panic attack or worse, and he didn't trust himself to talk about it – not yet, not here. Edgerton spoke, and Charlie's gut clenched, but all Ian said was, "We'd better get moving."

Afternoon found them two hours from the trailhead. They had hit a long straight section of trail. Perhaps it was because of that, and the ease of maintaining visual contact, but whatever the reason, they found themselves spread out. Megan and Edgerton were several yards up ahead, Edgerton trying the radio again. Don and Charlie were together in the center, and Colby and David lagged a few yards behind them.

They had been traveling downhill most of the way, but this section of the trail climbed slightly, winding along the side of a steep slope. It was becoming apparent to Don that Charlie didn't have much left – even that slight grade was exhausting him, and he staggered, breathing heavily, as they reached an overhang next to the trail. Don caught his arm and Charlie bent over, hands on his knees, panting.

"Whoa, take it easy," Don said softly. "Just take a breather. Do you need to sit?" Charlie shook his head, but remained bent over, trying to catch his breath. Don looked up ahead; Megan and Edgerton were disappearing around a bend in the trail. Glancing back, he saw Colby and David almost out of sight behind them; David was sitting, removing one of his boots, shaking a rock out of it. Don decided to stay put until they caught up; it would give Charlie a chance to rest. Edgerton and Megan would just have to wait for them. He looked back at Charlie, just as a scream split the air, coming from the overhang above them.

Don whirled toward the sound, catching a brief glimpse of someone, something launching itself toward him. A boot caught his head; he saw a bright explosion of lights and went down, knocking Charlie sprawling. Don's vision dimmed as his back hit the ground hard, and he fought for consciousness, crying out as a second boot came down on his leg with a sickening snap. The last thing he remembered was a madman's face over his own, screaming. As the dimness closed in, he saw the knife rise above him.

--------------------------------End Chapter 10------------------------------------------------


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Charlie hit the ground with a thud, scrambling to his feet almost immediately, before his brain even registered what was happening. He jerked around to face their attacker, recognizing Mansour in the same instant. His heart stopped, and he froze for a moment in horror. Mansour was standing over his brother, screaming, holding a knife, bringing it down in a vicious strike.

Don' vision was dimming; he felt a ferocious pain in his leg and in the back of his head, and he couldn't get his limbs to obey him. Somehow as the knife came down, he managed to move, and twisted spasmodically, and as he descended into darkness, he felt a searing pain in his side.

Terror struck Charlie as he saw the knife come down on his brother, and without even realizing he was doing it, he launched himself at Mansour with a scream of his own. He connected with Mansour like a thing possessed, just as the knife slashed down again. He felt something bite into his upper arm, and fell forward onto Mansour, who staggered, but managed to stay upright.

Charlie felt a hand close around the sweatshirt at his neck, and off-balance, he fell, swinging around, still held by the throat. The fabric twisted tightly around his neck, cutting off his ability to breathe, and he felt himself being dragged. He clawed at his throat, flailing his legs desperately in an attempt to gain his footing, but Mansour was moving too fast.

David had just finished lacing his boot when he heard the scream, and he and Colby looked up the path in time to see Mansour's boot connect with Don's head. Mansour was screaming something; to Colby it sounded like, "He is marked, you can't take him!" but the almost unintelligible words were the last thing he was concerned about as he sprinted up the trail, David close behind. He saw the knife come down, and Charlie launching himself at Mansour as if he was mad himself, and then saw Mansour grab him by the neck, and with frightening speed, take off down the hill, dragging Charlie behind as if he weighed no more than a rag doll. At the same time, he saw Megan and Edgerton sprinting around the upper end of the trail.

As they converged on Don's body, Edgerton shouted orders – Megan ran toward Don, and the rest of them veered down the hill after Mansour and Charlie. Mansour had reached the bottom and had a good start on them, but the ground had leveled out, and his progress slowed slightly. He shifted his grip on Charlie, pulling him up behind him almost like a sack on his back, and dodged through the trees, making it nearly impossible for the agents to get off a shot. They reached the level area, and without the hill to help them; their progress also slowed. Even so, they were gradually gaining ground, and Edgerton saw Mansour flinging looks of mingled panic and rage over his shoulder.

Charlie's struggle to alleviate the pressure on his neck was failing, and he could feel himself losing consciousness. He felt himself being lifted higher, onto Mansour's back, and the new position cut off his airway completely; his hands fell limply from his neck as his world spun and darkened.

Edgerton, trying to slow them down, stopped and took two shots, neither of them right at Mansour, but close enough that Mansour could hear the bullets hitting the trees near him. Colby and David screamed at Mansour to stop, and hearing the screaming and the bullets, he flung a look back. Realizing that they were closing on him, he paused for a moment, fear and desire warring on his face. With a howl of anger, he finally relinquished his grip on Charlie, disappearing into a dense section of smaller pines with swoosh of branches, as Charlie tumbled lifelessly to the ground. Edgerton went in after him without hesitation, and Colby and David dropped to the ground beside Charlie.

Charlie's face was dark from lack of oxygen; his eyes rolled back in his head, and they both realized immediately that he didn't appear to be breathing. Colby acted, his training kicking in like instinct, and delivered a blow to Charlie's chest, and prepared to give CPR. Before he could begin, Charlie gasped, a long ugly ragged breath, and began breathing, his eyes fluttering open, but remaining unfocused. Their heads jerked up briefly as they heard a shot; then they looked back down at Charlie.

"Breathe, Charlie," Colby instructed, the command coming out as more of a plea. They watched anxiously for a moment, standing guard with service weapons ready, as Charlie's chest heaved. His breathing began to slow and become more normal, but he still appeared to be half conscious, and he groaned softly, his eyes drooping shut.

"Let's get him up the hill," said David quietly, and Colby nodded. They holstered their weapons, and grabbed Charlie by the arms and legs, carrying his limp form up the hill toward the trail. They had gotten about halfway up when they heard footsteps running through the pines. David dropped Charlie's feet and pulled his weapon, only to bring it down as Edgerton appeared through the branches. "Get him?" asked David, his eyes dark.

Edgerton looked grim. "No, I took the wrong tack through the thicket, and he was out the far side before I could figure out which direction he went. I got a glimpse of him and took a shot, but he was too far off, at least for a good shot with a revolver." He looked down at Charlie, who was starting to open his eyes, and move in Colby's arms. Colby had squatted, and was still holding him under the shoulders, and he shifted his grip, trying to keep Charlie still.

Charlie's senses were slowing sharpening, and with awareness, panic was setting in. He twisted, trying break free of Colby's grip, and gasped, "Don?" He looked up groggily, fear in his face. "Where's Don?"

Colby shifted his grip again, and noted with shock that his left hand was covered with blood. He looked down, realizing that it was coming from Charlie's left arm, near the shoulder.

"Just hold on, Charlie, Don's right up there, okay? We'll take you up there. Just relax."

Charlie was beginning to tremble as they carried him the rest of the way up the hill, and laid him next to Don. Megan was bending over Don's inert form anxiously, and she looked up at them, clearly shaken. "He's out cold," she said. "He's breathing okay, but I can't wake him. He's got a nasty slash over his rib cage, but I don't think it's deep." As she was talking she was lifting Don's head and gently putting a rolled shirt underneath it. "I think he might have hit his head on a rock when he went down; he's got a lump on the back of it."

Charlie started to struggle as soon as he saw his brother, trying to sit up, still shaking. David gently held him down. "Charlie, just lie down, Don' s going to be okay." That only served to make Charlie more agitated, and he pushed against David, starting to thrash.

He managed to lean sideways toward his brother, still pushing against David. "Don?" He was gasping and shaking, and his eyes were becoming unfocused, although he was still staring in the direction of his brother's face.

Colby and Megan's eyes met in concern. "He's getting shocky," she said quietly, and Colby pulled off his jacket and laid it over him.

"Charlie, Don would want you to lie still," he said firmly, looking into Charlie's face. "Just rest." Charlie looked at him uncertainly; then laid back slowly, his eyes still on Don's face, his body still wracked by tremors. He reached out a trembling hand and laid it on Don's arm, but he stayed put, his eyes glued to his brother. Colby ran a hand through his hair, and looked at Megan and David in disbelief. "Jesus," he said softly, and David shook his head, his eyes mirroring the shock of the others.

Megan peeled back Don's shirt, revealing a gash over his left rib cage. "Colby, you take a look at this. David, can you throw me the first aid kit?" Charlie fought down panic as he saw the wound and started to rise again, but David was back at his side.

David tossed them the aid kit, and laid his hand on Charlie's uninjured shoulder firmly, holding him down, and spoke softly. "Charlie, just chill man; it's okay; they're taking care of him."

Colby gently probed the wound, which was bleeding profusely, and nodded. "Yeah, it's a graze, but it's a nasty one. We need to try to tape it together if we can. Grab those butterfly bandages." Megan pulled out the bandages, and they patched the wound, trying to pull the edges together as best they could.

Edgerton was standing a few feet away, speaking into the radio, and Colby and David glanced up hopefully as a transmission came crackling back. "We managed to raise them right before this happened," said Megan. "They know we're here, but we're still a couple hours from where they are." They listened as Edgerton explained the situation to his contact, and waited for him to speak as he signed off.

Edgerton stayed put, and motioned with a jerk of his head. "Granger and Sinclair, over here."

Colby glanced at Charlie as he rose, and looked at Megan. "Take a look at Charlie's shoulder, will you?" She nodded, glancing at Don. He looked so pale, so lifeless, that she compulsively checked his pulse again, and put a hand on his chest to check his breathing. His pulse was strong, and his breathing steady, she noted with relief, and looked up to see Charlie watching her anxiously, his hand still laid over his brother's arm protectively.

"He's doing okay, Charlie," she said, trying to reassure him. Charlie looked on the edge of collapse, both physically and emotionally. His eyes stayed riveted on Don, and Megan speculated that his concern for his brother might be the only thing that was holding him together at the moment.

She stepped over to him and kneeled, gently pulling his sweatshirt away from his shoulder. His neck was marked from the collar of the sweatshirt, and she peered down inside the sleeve, noting the gash in the outside of his upper arm. It was a nasty cut, and was bleeding freely, but at least it was not gushing. She reached over into her pack and pulled out one of her own T-shirts, listening to Edgerton speak as she bound Charlie's upper arm.

"Did you see what happened?" he was asking Colby and David quietly.

"We were a ways back on the trail," said David. "I had stopped to get a rock out of my boot. We heard a scream, and saw Mansour coming off this bluff. Don got a boot in the head and went down. Mansour had a knife; he stabbed Don once, but Charlie jumped him before he could do it again."

Edgerton looked skeptical. "Charlie jumped him?"

"Yeah, tackled him around the waist," said Colby. "He threw him off balance. Charlie must have gotten the knife in his shoulder when he did it. Mansour grabbed him around the neck by his shirt and took off down the hill. He was screaming something -," he looked at David for confirmation. "It sounded like, 'He's been marked,' or something like that." Megan rose, and stepped over to the group.

David nodded. "I heard, 'He is marked, you can't take him.'" He glanced at Charlie. "Meaning Charlie, I guess."

Megan nodded, speaking quietly, so that Charlie couldn't overhear. "I'm thinking he meant the marking, the slashes, on the victim's chest. He apparently feels an overwhelming compulsion to finish the job once he starts it."

Colby shook his head. "Now there's an understatement. This guy is a grade-A lunatic. I can't believe he had the guts to even try that."

"Guts have nothing to do with it," said Megan. "He's driven by something he can't control. We can't rule out the possibility that he may try it again."

Edgerton listened, his eyes narrowed, and he glanced at the brothers. "We need to get them out of here. Peters and some of his men will meet us on the trail, but we need to try to mock up some stretchers and try to get as far as we can. We need some pole-sized branches. Reeves, I want you on guard. The rest of us will gather branches. No one goes out of sight of the others, understood?"

They nodded and spread out, but made sure to maintain visual contact with each other and with Megan. Working quickly and quietly, they scoured the hillside for sturdy long branches, senses sharpened, eyes searching the surrounding forest, each of them aware of the horror that lurked in the trees.

------------------------------------------End Chapter 11--------------------------------------------


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Colby and David dragged their makeshift poles up the hill and laid them next to Edgerton's. Pulling two of the canvas lean-tos from their packs, they began lashing them to the poles. Megan sat next to Charlie and scanned the forest as they worked; eyes watchful. Her attention was suddenly captured by a groan, and a slight movement from Don. She rose and moved to Don's side in time to see his eyes open briefly.

Don's vision swam, and he gritted his teeth against the pain that surged in his head and his leg, a low moan escaping. He tried vainly to collect his thoughts, but they swirled and twisted, eluding him. Something nagged at the back of his mind, something to do with Charlie. As if from a great distance, he heard Megan's voice, and he twisted slightly, trying to alleviate the pain in his leg and the fire in his side.

"Don," said Megan, "lie still." Charlie could stand it no longer. He flung off Colby's jacket, rolled to his knees and crawled to his brother, his left arm held to his side like a broken wing, and she looked at him sternly. "Charlie, stay down." He ignored her, leaning over Don anxiously, and she shot him a look, but turned her attention to Don.

Don gasped, and reached a hand toward his left leg, and Megan followed the gesture. "What is it? Your leg?" She ran her hands down his leg gently; she couldn't feel anything broken, but his lower leg did feel swollen. Experimentally, she ran her hands over his lower right leg for comparison. Yes, the left was definitely swollen. She tried to gently pull up Don's pant leg, and he groaned, twisting in agony.

She looked up at the other agents, who were watching as they worked. "Guys, I think we might have a bad sprain or a broken leg here." Don's eyes were closed, his face twisted in pain, and he muttered something incoherent. "What?" she asked, bending her head closer.

Don's eyes opened, searching, trying to focus. "Charlie," he gasped.

"I'm here, Don," Charlie said quietly. His face was anxious; he was still trembling and his eyes were riveted on his brother, but his voice was much more controlled than Megan would have expected. "It's okay."

Don panted, his breaths growing slower, and his eyes fluttered closed. "Don," said Charlie, pleading. "Stay. Stay with me." His shoulders slumped in defeat as Don's head tilted slowly sideways, and his body relaxed. He stared at his brother forlornly, sitting dejectedly on the ground, and his strength seemed to leave along with his brother's consciousness. His body sagged and trembled, and he felt Megan's hands on his shoulders as a wave of dizziness hit.

"Charlie, can you lie down on this for me?" He turned his head, realizing dazedly that there was a stretcher next to him, and he shifted painfully onto the canvas, turning his head toward Don as he lay. The shaking was returning with a vengeance, and he heard a roaring in his ears. He felt someone lay a sleeping bag over him, and he fought for consciousness. He needed to stay awake; Don might need him. He watched, still struggling for awareness, as they lifted Don gently onto a stretcher, and covered him with another sleeping bag.

Edgerton scanned the woods around them, and turned to the team, who were shouldering their packs. "All right," he said quietly. "Let's go."

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Sheriff Peters had seen military duty, and the group approaching him reminded him of wartime. They looked like a band of exiles, carrying their wounded; tired, dirty, eyes that had seen too much pain. He felt a growing dread as he looked at them; a crack band of FBI agents reduced to an exhausted group of refugees. '_What kind of monster are we dealing with?' _he wondered.

He and his men had brought real stretchers, and they transferred the Eppes brothers to them. They were both conscious, but Agent Eppes was extremely groggy and in significant pain. His younger brother appeared to be bordering on shock and was also in pain, exhausted and on the verge of passing out, but he struggled to stay awake, craning his neck to watch his brother's stretcher ahead of him on the trail. The local law enforcement officers took over the stretchers, and the FBI agents, relieved of their burdens, spread out in front of and behind Peters and his men, eyes wary in spite of their fatigue, scanning the forest around them with tense faces.

Edgerton brought up the rear, purposely putting some space between his position and the group's to distance himself from the noise they were making. The hair on the back of his neck was prickling, and from time to time he would hear a slight noise to one side of them or the other, but when he turned to look, he saw only forest. Mansour was out there, though, Edgerton could feel it, and he fingered his service weapon, ready, waiting, watching.

His personal philosophy was to always remain detached from a case, but in spite of himself, this was becoming personal to him. He attacked all of his assignments with a single-mindedness that always yielded results, but his focus on this case had gone beyond that, bordering almost on obsession. Mansour almost seemed to be mocking him, killing, causing destruction at will, and Edgerton could not stifle the feeling that it was his fault. He was lead agent on this case – this was between him and Mansour. He would get this monster at any cost.

They all felt a surge of relief as they reached the trailhead. Two ambulances were waiting, called in by Peters, the attendants standing by. They laid Charlie's stretcher gently on the ground, and the medics gathered around to transfer Don from his stretcher to the ambulance gurney. The agents were watching the forest behind them, and Megan turned as she caught Charlie moving out of the corner of her eye. Momentarily unattended, he had struggled off the stretcher, and was staggering to his feet.

"Charlie! What are you doing?" She bounded over and grabbed his arm, and he yanked it away, tottering toward Don's gurney.

"I'm going with him," he said, his voice weak but defiant.

One of the medics stepped forward, trying to guide him to the other gurney. "Sir, I need to ask that you lie down. We're taking you in the other ambulance."

"No," said Charlie firmly, pushing away. He moved next to Don, and another medic put gentle hands on his shoulders. He shrugged them away, and faced them. "You can't treat me if I don't accept treatment. I'm going with him."

The group eyed him for a moment, disconcerted. The young man in front of them could barely stand, his face bruised and pale, his clothes blood-stained, but his eyes were blazing, and his resolve made them pause. The medics glanced at each other. "Humor him," said one of them quietly. "Let's just get them out of here. We can let them talk him into treatment at the hospital."

The other medic gave him a doubtful look, but nodded at Charlie. "Okay. Sit where we tell you."

Charlie nodded, and turned to his brother. Don was looking at him, his eyes trying to focus. "Charlie." His face was twisted with pain, and the name came out as a hoarse whisper. His hand moved, and Charlie grasped it tightly.

"I'm here, Donnie," said Charlie, his voice shaking. "It's okay."

Megan and Colby moved next to Charlie as they loaded Don into the ambulance. Charlie was swaying on his feet, and Megan and Colby exchanged looks of concern. "Charlie, this isn't a good idea," said Colby quietly. "Peters says the hospital's only a half hour away, and you'll get there at the same time as Don. Let them take care of you."

Charlie shook his head stubbornly, and Megan eyed him closely. He looked shell-shocked, beyond reason, she realized; and her concern deepened. Maybe the medics were right, she thought, to at least get him there without a struggle. He would be dealt with there, whether he wanted to or not, she resolved. She would see to it personally. She watched as a medic helped Charlie into the ambulance, and saw him sit shakily and lean over Don as the doors closed. She glanced at Colby. "Let's get going. I want to get there with them."

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Alan had made himself a sandwich for dinner, and had just sat down when the phone call came from Megan. She hadn't given him much in the way of details – the news that both of his boys were hurt and were on the way to the hospital was frightening enough that for a moment he wouldn't have been able to digest the details anyway. He finally was made to understand that they had been in some kind of accident; that Don had a concussion and a possible broken leg, and that Charlie needed stitches. She assured him that they were stable, and his heart gradually slowed from a painful pounding to something more normal.

Megan advised him to bring some extra clothes and a jacket for Charlie; and for Don too if he could find any, and pleaded with him to take his time and drive carefully. He flew around the house, collecting clothes for himself and his sons, tossed them into bags, and few moments later, he was in the car, on the way to Santa Paula Memorial Hospital, driving too fast, white knuckled, his sandwich forgotten on the kitchen table.

--------------------------End Chapter 12---------------------------------------------------------


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"This was stupid. We should have sent him in the other ambulance."

"He refused treatment. Besides, he looked halfway with it at the time. Don't worry about it, we're almost there."

"Sir, are you all right? What was his name? Charlie? Charlie, can you hear me?"

Charlie fought his way back with an effort. The faces of the medics swam into focus, and he realized he was still in the ambulance. They were staring at him intently; one of them supporting him by the arm, and Charlie straightened and looked back, trying to appear in control. "I'm fine," he said automatically, and it came out as a whisper. The fact was, he didn't know. Was he fine? Was he not? He must have blanked out, he mused, almost abstractly. It was becoming such an effort to think, to move, to stay awake. He had to though, for Don. Don could do none of those things right now.

He looked down at his brother, and realized that he was holding his hand. At some point his brother had acquired an oxygen mask and a cervical collar, and Charlie searched his memory. Did Don have those when he got into the ambulance? Charlie couldn't remember, and he frowned, touching the collar lightly, confused. The medic caught his expression. "Just a precaution," he said. "Standard procedure for head injuries."

Charlie stared at what he could see of Don's pale face, his heart constricting as he saw that his brother's eyes were closed. He had been conscious just a few moments ago. '_It was a few minutes, right? How long did I blank out?_' Charlie wondered. "Donnie?" he said tentatively, and was relieved to see his brother's eyes flutter open. "Are you okay?"

Stupid question, Charlie thought as soon as he said it, but Don tried to respond; something muffled came from the oxygen mask. At least Don understood him.

Charlie gripped his brother's hand tighter. "It's going to be okay," he said in a voice tinged with desperation, as Don's eyes closed again. Charlie needed him to be okay, to be whole again, and he willed him to open his eyes with every fiber in his being. He stared hard, until his vision blurred at the edges, and Don's face was the only thing in focus – the only thing that mattered. '_Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay, please-,'_

The ambulance jerked to a stop, and Charlie was jolted into the real world again. The jolt aroused Don, too; his eyes opened slightly, and he groaned. Charlie's stomach twisted at the groan, and he barely heard the medic asking him to step out. He stood, bent over on shaky legs as the ambulance door opened, fighting dizziness, and nearly fell out of the back, saved by the strong arm of the medic who had opened the door. Someone rolled a wheelchair up to him, and tried to guide him into it, but he pushed them impatiently away, staggering to the side of Don's gurney, grabbing hold for support as it moved toward the door.

He felt a hand take his arm, but since it wasn't pulling him away from Don, he left it there, and the hand followed him in, in with Don. Don was in, in where? Where were they? Don was moving so fast in his bed, had to hurry, there were lights, hurry, a hallway and doors. They pushed through the doors and he was in a spinning room, spinning with Don. He seized the side of the Don's bed and pulled hard, trying to stop the whirling. He felt hands grabbing him and he fought back, trying to push them away, as the whirlpool pulled him under.

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Megan, David and Colby arrived a few moments later. They had swung off the road into the hotel parking lot when they reached it, and Colby jumped into his truck, knowing they would need another vehicle. Edgerton stopped in the parking lot for a moment for a quick powwow with Peters, but Megan and David, in Don's SUV, headed straight for the hospital, Colby right behind them. Parking in the emergency lot, they ran for the entrance, and burst in through the doors.

One of the medics recognized them and steered them toward an exam room. As they pushed through the door, they saw Charlie, oblivious to the world, his chest cleaned and in the process of being stitched. His clothes had been removed, and his lower body was covered by a sheet down to the knees. The dark circles around his toes and ankles stood out, ugly under the florescent lights. He was hooked to a monitor that was registering his pulse and blood pressure, and was surrounded by nurses, interns and a doctor, who looked up as they approached.

The doctor eyed them suspiciously and spoke without introduction. "Who are you?"

Megan reached into her jacket as he spoke, and pulled out her badge. "Agent Reeves, FBI. This is Agent Granger and Agent Sinclair. We're with Dr. Eppes, and his brother, Agent Don Eppes."

The doctor looked down at Charlie, working the needle. "What in the hell happened to him?"

"Dr. Eppes was with us in Los Padres on a case. He was attacked. The wounds in his chest are knife wounds."

One of the interns looked up, wide eyed. "Attacked by the serial killer?" They all looked up at that; everyone in the area had heard about the killings in the park. At Colby's grim nod, they looked back down at their patient, subdued; staring at the marks on his chest and feet.

The doctor continued to stitch, glancing at his interns impatiently. "Is one of you going to get working on that arm, or are you just going to stand there?"

Megan frowned, looking at Charlie's inert form. The only sign he was alive was the monitor that he was hooked to, which flashed out heart rate and blood pressure readings. She remembered how he had refused to let them look at his injuries. "Did you need to sedate him?"

The doctor snorted. "Hardly. The idiot ambulance techs let him walk in here on his own. He came in staggering with his brother's gurney, and almost took a nose dive in the examining room. He's been out ever since. He stirred a little when we numbed him, but went right back out. He didn't have a head injury that you know of?"

"Actually he did," said Colby. "It was a couple of days ago, though, and he's been up and walking around since then."

The doctor pursed his lips and spoke to one of the interns. "Let's get a scan ordered."

"Where is Agent Eppes?" asked David.

"Next door, in two. They're examining him now. Hand me a new suture pack." He pulled the curved needle from the pack that the nurse opened, and bent down over Charlie's chest.

Megan paused. "What about Charlie – Dr. Eppes?"

"Other than the wounds, he's suffering from dehydration and extreme exhaustion."

'_And a boatload of post traumatic stress,'_ thought Megan.

"There was obviously some blood loss. I'm not sure yet whether or not he'll need a transfusion – we're getting a count now. I'm guessing not. Is there a family member present?"

"Their father is on the way."

"Have him come down here and sign for them, and pick up their personal effects when he gets here. Thanks."

They looked at each other, realizing that they had been dismissed. Colby shrugged, and they headed out into the hall, looking for Room 2. Megan paused once more at the door and stole a glance at Charlie, hoping fervently that he didn't wake up while they were working on him. She watched for just a moment, then followed Colby and David into the exam room next door.

"… and this is Agent Reeves," Colby said to the doctor as Megan walked in. She could see that Don's eyes were open, and she stepped forward past Colby and David and sidled closer to his bedside.

The doctor was stitching the gash in Don's side, and eyed Megan from across the bed, but didn't shoo her away, so she stepped a little closer and addressed him. "Can I talk to him?"

The doctor nodded. He was trying to determine the extent of the head injury, and he needed to judge the patient's responsiveness. "Go ahead."

Megan stepped closer and caught Don's eye. "Hey Don," she said softly. "You okay?"

Don's face was lined with pain, and he was breathing heavily, trying to control it. His voice was rough. "Think so," he gasped. "Leg hurts. Head - " He paused, searching for words. "Hurts." He grimaced and shut his eyes tight as another wave of pain coursed through his head, and Megan winced in sympathy.

The doctor spoke to Don. "We'll try to get you something for the pain, but we need to determine the extent of your head injury first." He looked up at Megan as he finished the sutures. "I'm going to send him down for X-rays and a CT scan. We'll bring him back here when we're done for an assessment, but it's my guess that they'll admit him. Someone told me there's a family member here – his brother? Maybe we can get him to sign some papers for us."

"That might be hard," said Colby. "He's next door, being worked on himself."

"Oh." The doctor looked taken aback.

"Their father is on the way," said Megan.

"Right," said the doctor, gathering himself. "We'll talk about it when he gets here." He motioned to an orderly. "Let's get him down to Radiology."

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Charlie didn't wake up until he was in his room, and then it was a struggle. Except for pain from the cuts in his left arm and chest, he felt comfortable and warm, and his body was so heavy. His mind prodded him awake, however, there was something urgent pushing at his memory, and he fought back the sleep that pulled him under. Don. Groggy, he looked around, trying to get his bearings, his heart beating faster. His head turned sideways, and with the view came immediate relief. Don was in the bed across from him.

"Donnie?" His brother was silent, his eyes closed.

He stared for a moment, his heart sinking as snatches of memory came back to him. Don wasn't responding, and the realization brought fear with it. He stared at his brother across the room, wishing he was closer. The gap between the beds stretched like an impassible void.

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Alan had made it to the hospital in a little bit under two hours, sure that he had broken a land speed record on some stretches of the highway. He had gotten tied up in traffic in L.A., and as soon as he broke free of it, he floored it, trying to make up time. He was hurrying down the hall with Megan toward his sons' room.

"Don has a moderate concussion," Megan was saying. "He's been in and out since they brought him here, mostly awake, but he's pretty groggy, and he'll drift out once in a while. His lower left leg is broken near the ankle– the smaller bone – the fibula– they said it's fractured but not displaced. He has a gash in his side that they had to stitch." They passed the nurses' station, and a nurse fell in behind them, walking the same direction.

"And Charlie?"

Megan paused and glanced at him. "Charlie needed some stitches, and the doctor said he's suffering from exhaustion and dehydration. I'm sure he'll fill you in on the details."

They had almost reached the room. "Stitches from what?" asked Alan. "What happened to them? Was it an accident?"

Megan didn't reply. "Here's their room."

They stepped in, and her first reaction was shock as she realized that the bed on the far side of the room, Charlie's, was empty. Swinging her gaze to Don, she realized that Charlie was sitting in a chair on the other side of Don's bed, with his IV stand next to him. His right arm was flung over his brother, and his upper body rested on the bed. He was fast asleep.

Alan stopped dead for a moment, and his heart contracted at the sight. The nurse had followed them in and bustled around them, uttering an exclamation as she saw Charlie, and she headed toward him.

"Dr. Eppes, you aren't supposed to be out of bed," she clucked with consternation.

Charlie lifted his head, dazed, and his eyes fell on his father. He stared at Alan sadly, and whispered, "He won't wake up." As if to contradict him, Don stirred suddenly and groaned, his eyes flickering open. Charlie jerked his head around and jumped to his feet, too quickly, and swayed as dizziness hit him. "Don," he said; emotion in his voice, as he grabbed the bedrail for support.

Don squinted, trying to focus. "Charlie?" His dad's face swam into view over Charlie's shoulder. "Dad," he said thickly. The pain was a little more tolerable, but organized thought was still eluding him, and he had an overwhelming urge to sleep. He stared, trying to will his eyelids open, but they drifted shut again.

"Don," said Charlie urgently. "Wake up." He was swaying badly and starting to shake, and the nurse grabbed his arm.

"Dr. Eppes, you need to get back in bed." She pulled Charlie gently away.

Alan stepped forward, and instinctively put his hands out to help as the nurse coaxed Charlie toward his bed. He took in the bandaged wrist, the bruise on his son's face, and felt the thinness of his shoulders under the hospital gown, frowning in confusion as he looked down and caught the gauze bandages on his son's ankles and feet. Together they guided him to his bed and helped him swing his legs up and lie back. The hospital gown slipped off his shoulder, and Alan was shocked to see bandages on his chest. His mouth opened in surprise, but he shut it again as Charlie looked up at him, his eyes strangely unfocused; and filled with pain.

Alan's heart caught, and he laid a gentle hand on his son's head. "Charlie, baby, just rest now. Don will be okay. I'm here." Charlie stared at him dazedly for a few seconds; then slowly closed his eyes. Alan stood for a moment, making sure he was out, and then turned to Don. His older son was lying perfectly still; his eyes were shut, but the pain in his face indicated that he was still conscious. That was small consolation however; neither of his sons was operating with all of his faculties intact. Alan looked from one of them to the other, apprehension rising in him as the reality of their conditions sunk in.

He looked up at Megan, and she saw confusion, fear and anger in his face, as he spoke. "What in the hell happened to my sons?"

She stepped forward and took his arm, steering him toward the door. "Come on," she said gently. "Let's go out here, and I'll tell you."

Alan stood still, resisting her arm. "I'd rather not leave them."

Megan glanced meaningfully at Charlie. He didn't need to relive the trauma by hearing this, she thought. "I think it's best if we talk outside. It won't take long."

Alan caught her look, and stared at her, discomforted. '_What on earth happened?_' he wondered with growing dread. He glanced back at Charlie, and seeing that his son's eyes were still closed, nodded reluctantly. "Okay," Alan said quietly, and followed her out into the hallway, completely unprepared for what he was about to hear.

-------------------------End Chapter 13------------------------------------------------------


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Don retched again, coughing into the basin that his father was holding for him, and leaned back with a groan as the sutures pulled in his side. The throbbing in his head was matched by the intense aching in his leg, and he viewed the arrival of the nurse with relief. She had promised more pain medication; warning him that he couldn't have anything too strong with a concussion, but anything would help at this point, he thought. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to adjust the position of the temporary bracing cast on his leg, and watched her, panting, as she added the medication to his IV. Feeling a cool cloth on his forehead, he looked up with gratitude at his father, his face lined with pain. The nurse turned, and whisked away the basin on her way out of the room.

Don had regained awareness slowly, and had spent most of his waking moments getting sick. He was still not quite with it, but his thoughts were gradually assuming some kind of order, and he glanced at the window, noticing for the first time it was dark outside. "What time is it?" he asked; his voice hoarse.

"Around midnight," answered Alan. His own face was tight with worry, but he relaxed a little as Don spoke the first coherent sentence that he had uttered all day. Charlie was still out, lying corpse-like in the other bed, oblivious to the noise they were making. Alan couldn't think of his younger son and what he had gone through without a stab of grief and pain, and he focused on Don, trying to stay calm, to be strong for his sons' sakes.

He watched as Don's eyes closed; his face and breathing relaxing as the medication took effect. The nurse swept back in, quickly and almost silently, and set down a clean emesis basin, and Alan nodded his thanks. He looked back at Don, to see his eyes open again, focused on his brother, worry growing on his face.

"Is he okay?" Memory was coming back to Don, and he felt a pang of fear as he remembered the attack. '_What happened after I passed out?_' he wondered, panic rising.

"He's all right. He's sleeping," said Alan quietly. He glanced at his youngest son, feeling a pang of mingled worry and sadness as he looked at his pale face, the purple bruise on it echoing the dark smudges under his eyes. The doctor had decided against a transfusion, and Alan wondered if that had been the right decision; Charlie was so pale, so exhausted. Alan sighed tiredly, and thanked heaven for at least the fifth time for the small favor that his boys were together in the same room.

Questions were tumbling through Don's mind now, faster than he could get them out. "It was Mansour – did he hurt him? Did they get him?"

Alan tried to sort through the questions, guessing at who "him" referred to. "Apparently, this, this Mansour attacked you with a knife, and you went down; and somehow, you hit your head and broke your leg in the process. Megan told me that Charlie tackled him."

"Charlie tackled him?" Don repeated, incredulous.

"He looked -," Alan paused; he was having difficulty getting the words out. "It looked like Mansour was preparing to stab you again. Charlie was trying to stop him."

Don stared at Charlie, stunned, and after a moment Alan continued, his eyes following Don's and resting on his younger son. "Charlie was stabbed in the shoulder. This _Mansour_," Alan spoke the name like it was something distasteful, indignation and grief rising in his voice, "grabbed him and dragged him down the hill. They chased him, and he let go of Charlie, but he got away."

Don turned his head, wincing slightly at the movement, and stared at the ceiling, his mind reeling. '_This is a nightmare,' _he thought, and he glanced over at Charlie with concern. His brother looked pale, almost fragile, and Don's gut clenched in pain and rage as he thought of what Charlie had been through.

Alan watched the emotions pass over Don's face and he spoke quietly. "It's okay, you're both safe. You should get some rest. It's over now." Don frowned but he closed his eyes, gradually relaxing as fatigue took him. Alan settled in his chair to watch and wait, his last statement already forgotten, without an inkling of how wrong he was.

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Charlie awoke to clatter, and he blinked and squinted at the light coming through the window. He shifted in his bed, wincing as the sutures pulled in his shoulder, and turned his head to see his father bending over his bedside. Alan was smiling at him, and his words were light, but his eyes were sad and concerned. "Charlie. Good morning. It's about time you woke up."

Charlie looked at him, but didn't respond, his gaze shifting to the room beyond. He realized with a start that his brother was awake, and was looking at him with an expression of relief. "Don." He heard the relief in his own voice, and found himself clutching his father's hand.

"Hey Chuck," said Don smiling. "It figures you'd sleep until breakfast." The smile and the words were cheerful but a bit forced, and concern was in his eyes.

Charlie tried to smile back, but only managed to close his mouth in a line, a weak attempt that looked more like an expression of pain. He looked at his father, still gripping his hand for reassurance, and then back at Don. "How is your head?"

Don glanced up as a short buxom nurse approached with a tray containing gelatin and ginger ale, and made a face. "It's been better. Actually, it's much better than last night. I was sicker than a dog. I can't believe I didn't wake you up." He looked over at Charlie, his expression softening. "How are you doing?"

Charlie glanced away, catching Alan's eyes on him as he looked toward the window. "Okay."

He could think straight again, at least, after the sleep. He wasn't sure if that was a blessing or a curse. He felt out of place, disoriented. Three weeks ago, he knew who he was. He was a successful professor of mathematics, a leader in his field, dazzling senators and business moguls at fund-raisers, consulting on matters of national security, with a promising future and what he thought was a blooming relationship with Amita. Now he was someone else he didn't recognize, beaten, unsure, frightened, his confidence shredded. He swallowed and turned, and Alan's heart sank at the sadness and fear in his eyes.

The nurse bustled back in with another tray. "You actually get real food for breakfast," she said cheerfully, and Charlie reluctantly relinquished his grip on his father's hand, as she situated the tray in front of him. '_Lucky me,'_ he thought, his stomach flipping as he looked at pile of congealed eggs. His father looked so concerned that he felt guilty, and he tried to muster a wan smile as he picked up his fork, catching Don's eyes on him as he did.

He tried hard to act normally, to hide his shaking hand as he lifted the utensil. He didn't want them to know how weak he was, how uncertain he was of himself. Don was always strong and confident, and his father was steady as a rock. He was still reeling with fear from what had happened, and it made him feel inadequate somehow, especially next to Don. He stole a glance at his brother, who was frowning. Charlie mistook it for disapproval, and berated himself. _'Suck it up,'_ he thought. _'Don't disappoint him.'_

Don watched his brother picking blankly at his eggs; Charlie barely noticing as the nurse grabbed his left hand and removed his IV, and he exchanged a glance with his father. The nurse chirped at Charlie cheerfully. "_You_ are getting out of here today. You do need to go home and catch up on your rest, but the doctor has cleared you for discharge."

She hustled over to Don. "If you keep that down, we'll get you something a little more substantial. You are scheduled for a consult with the orthopedic doctor. When you go down to meet with him, they'll put on your cast."

Don grimaced. Great, just what he needed.

The nurse exited the room, winking at Alan, who raised his eyebrows, watching her go. Don caught the look, and in spite of the pain and the worry over Charlie, he couldn't stop a smile. "I think she's hot for you, Dad."

Alan snorted, and grinned back wryly. "That one's just a little too chipper for me." His smile faded as he looked at Charlie, hunched over his tray, staring blankly at his toast. Don's eyes followed his father's, and quiet descended in the room.

Don's team showed up at 8:30, accompanied by Edgerton, meeting Alan in the hallway outside the room as he went to get coffee. They introduced Alan and Edgerton, and Alan clasped his hand. "I understand that I owe you some thanks for finding my son," he said quietly.

"No thanks necessary," replied Edgerton.

"Alan, I can stay for a while – why don't you take off and get some rest?" offered Megan.

Alan shook his head with a smile. "Thank you, but Charlie's getting discharged this morning," he told them. "I'll bring him home, and get some rest then. I can come back for Don when they release him."

Edgerton frowned. This case was not going well, and now he was losing his consultant. He felt a little twinge of desperation. "We could still use him on the case."

Alan looked at him, astonishment stealing any ability to reply. The other agents cast sideways glances at him laced with skepticism, and Edgerton spoke defensively. "Has anyone asked him whether he wants to go home? I understand he likes to finish what he starts."

Alan's eyes flashed with anger. "I can guarantee you he's going home, whether he wants to or not. He's done with this – this case." He spit the last word out in disgust.

Edgerton's face remained expressionless. "We'll need a statement from him before he leaves."

"Fine," snapped Alan. "Get it now, we're going soon." He turned on his heel, headed for the cafeteria.

The other agents glanced at each other; then looked at Edgerton. "Okay," said Ian, "you heard the man." He headed into the room, and they filed in behind him, exchanging greetings with Don and Charlie. There was an awkward pause, and Ian filled it. "Charlie, we need to get a statement from you."

Charlie glanced up, panic in his face, but he looked at his brother, and seemed to collect himself almost instantly. Don was about to protest, but much to his amazement, Charlie nodded. "Okay." He spoke uncertainly, but there was no denying the response.

Don frowned. "Charlie, are you sure? Maybe we can wait -,"

"We can't wait," Edgerton cut him off sharply. "We had another disappearance early this morning – one of Peters' men. There was a group of them on the trail, looking for the missing hiker. They weren't entirely sure how it happened; it sounded like they got a little too spread out, but regardless of that, they were trained and alert, and he got to him anyway. Hell, he got to us. Mansour is not going to stop on his own. _We_ need to stop him." His eyes were snapping with repressed anger when he finished, and Don looked at him, nonplussed. He had never seen Ian like this.

Charlie took a deep breath. He was anything but sure about this, but he felt an unexplained need to prove himself. "Yes. I'm sure."

They decided that they would limit the group to Don, Edgerton and Megan, to try to make it a little easier on Charlie. They sat in the room, Edgerton taking notes. Charlie spoke quietly, steadily, but Don could see the effort underlying the words; what it was costing him to keep control as he revisited the horror that he had gone through.

Don could scarcely contain his own emotions as he listened to Charlie's account of seeing the hiker's body, of the marking, of the tying off of his feet and his legs, of his desperate attempts to free himself, cutting his own flesh with the knife and the wire cutters. A few times, Charlie paused, clearly overcome, and Don almost stopped the interview, but each time his brother gathered himself together and continued.

Charlie ended with the explanation of his flight through the forest, including his dousing in the stream. Edgerton was particularly interested in that portion, trying to get a grip on where in the park Mansour was taking his victims, and he questioned Charlie closely. By the time he was finished, an hour later, Charlie looked exhausted, and Don was feeling queasy again.

They were interrupted by the arrival of an intern, who had come for a final checkup and to give discharge instructions to Charlie. Alan followed him in, glancing sourly at Edgerton as Ian and Megan left the room.

Edgerton paused in the hallway, looking over the notes he had taken. He glanced through the doorway at Charlie. He was certain if he could get him alone, away from his father and his brother, he could talk him into staying. An orderly stepped up next to him, manipulating a wheel chair, and peered through the doorway. He turned to Edgerton.

"Do you know what they're doing in there? I'm supposed to take -," he looked down at his chart, "Don Eppes down to the cast room."

Edgerton eyed him speculatively. This might be his opportunity. "Don is the one in bed closer to us," he told the orderly. "The doctor is releasing his brother. I'm sure they'll be done in a minute."

The intern, finished with the instructions, had Charlie sign paperwork, and left the room, the orderly squeezing into the doorway after him. He situated the wheel chair next to Don's bed, as Alan spoke to Charlie. Ian edged closer to the door, listening.

Alan placed a small duffel bag on Charlie's bed; then turned to help the orderly get Don into the chair. "Why don't you get dressed," Alan said to Charlie, "while I go downstairs with Don. We'll take off when he's done."

Ian saw Charlie nod, and he stepped back from the door, glancing down the hallway. He could see a waiting area from where he stood; none of the other agents were there; or anywhere in sight. They had probably gone to get coffee, he thought. So much the better.

The orderly wheeled Don out, and Ian stepped up to speak to him, making sure he was in clear view of Charlie, who was watching them through the doorway. Charlie was listening absently to his father, who had unzipped the duffel and was rummaging through it. Ian looked at Don. "I have your backpacks in my truck. I'll bring Charlie's up. Do you want me to hang on to yours for now?"

Don nodded. "That's fine." He glanced at Charlie. "I'm not sure if I'll stay up here or not, but I'll stay on the case. If I go back to the office, they'll stick me on light duty anyway. I might as well work on this. You tell me what you need."

Ian nodded. "I'd appreciate the help." He looked at Charlie as he spoke, catching his eye.

"I'm not sure when they'll release me," said Don. "Keep me posted, okay?"

"Sure," said Ian easily. Alan stepped up behind the orderly, ignoring Edgerton, as they moved off down the hall. Ian waited until they rounded the corner, and stepped into the room.

--------------------------End Chapter 14---------------------------------------------------


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Charlie watched as the orderly helped Don into the wheelchair. Don had winced, but recovered quickly, smiling and exchanging a joke with the orderly as he lowered himself into the seat. As a child, Charlie had idolized his older brother, and he felt that awe again as he watched him. Don had been attacked by that madman too, he told himself, and here he was, strong, confident, smiling, less than a day after the ordeal.

'_How does he do that?'_ wondered Charlie, feeling even more inadequate. He tried to fight back the old familiar feeling in his gut, the feeling that he didn't quite get it in the ways that mattered most, the feeling that he would never measure up to his older brother when it came to functioning in the real world, and the fear that came with it – the fear of failure, of disappointing the person that meant the most to him.

His eyes followed them as the orderly paused with Don out in the hall, and he listened absently to his father as he rummaged through the duffel bag, watching as his brother talked to Edgerton. They both looked his direction as they spoke, and he realized that they must be talking about him.

His attention was captured by a flying container of deodorant that flipped out of his father's hand and into his lap. He definitely needed a shower, but his father was suggesting that he take one at home. Home – he suddenly couldn't wait to get there. He was struck by an intense desire to hide, to hibernate, to get away from the case and Amita and anything else remotely associated with the outside world. Alan straightened, still speaking, and Charlie nodded agreement again to whatever he was saying, barely noticing as his father turned and headed toward the door. Charlie closed his eyes, just sitting for a moment, and an image of his garage and his chalkboards rose, tantalizing, inviting, in his mind. If he concentrated, he could almost smell the chalk.

At Edgerton's voice he jumped, surprised, his eyes flying open. He hadn't heard Ian come into the room.

"I'm sorry," said Edgerton, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"No, it's okay," said Charlie. "I just didn't hear you."

Edgerton pulled up a chair and sat, leaning forward. "I was just talking to Don. I know your Dad won't be too keen on this, but Don and I both agree that we still need you on this case." Charlie's heart flipped, and he scratched the back of his head, trying hard to hide his expression as confusion and panic swirled up suddenly, making his heart pound.

Edgerton continued smoothly. "Don figured you would be willing to help out, in fact, he said he was sure you would want to finish this, if you could talk your Dad into it." He paused expectantly.

Charlie was taken aback. Don expected him to continue to work on the case? Of course he did, he told himself; Don never gave up on a case, and he expected that dedication out of everyone else. It was just that – '_That what_?' he asked himself miserably. That he was afraid, that, let's face it, he was a wreck right now. How would Don understand that? Weakness wasn't part of his nature. His heart sinking, Charlie swallowed and stammered, "Yeah, sure."

Edgerton smiled. "I wouldn't have thought any less of you, either. Don said he would work on explaining to your Dad while they went downstairs, and suggested that it would be easier if you just went ahead, got changed and went with me before they came back."

"Uh," Charlie spoke haltingly, "What did you need me to do?" '_Maybe this wouldn't take too long_,' he thought; '_an afternoon of work at the war room…'_

"Well, you could finish your analysis on the sites," said Ian slowly. "But I'm not sure that will get us what we need quickly enough. I've been looking at the map, trying to determine where Mansour took you, and it looks like it might have been somewhere just a few hours into the park. What I really need you to do is to go back there with me, and see if we can retrace your steps. We'd cut through the woods instead of taking the trail around – it makes it much quicker. It would be just a day trip, in and out. We'd be back by this evening."

Charlie stared back in shock, terror writhing inside of him. He couldn't go back there. He couldn't – Don agreed to this? He couldn't do it. He swallowed hard. "I, I don't think – I can-,"

Edgerton smiled knowingly. "I understand. I told Don I thought that would be your reaction. You've been through a lot. He disagreed with me – he thought you were up for it." He rose. "I'll let him know." He turned and headed toward the doorway, and was halfway there before he heard Charlie's voice.

"Wait." Edgerton turned at the sound, so strangled it was almost unintelligible, and faced Charlie, silently.

'_Weak_,' thought Charlie, disgusted with himself at his fear. '_I'm weak.'_ He thought of Don earlier, smiling and joking with the orderly. '_That's normal,'_ thought Charlie, '_that's how I should be taking this, not overreacting like some scared child -,' _He looked at Edgerton, his heart thumping painfully, and he struggled to keep his voice steady.

"I – okay." The words seemed like they were coming from someone else. The thought of going back into the forest was terrifying, but the idea of disappointing his brother was worse. It would be a short trip, Ian had said, and his brother would never ask him to do it if he thought it wasn't safe. In spite of the rationalizations he was making to himself, he had a hard time getting the words out. "I'll go."

Edgerton grinned wryly. "Proving me wrong, are you? I should have known you Eppes guys were made out of the same stuff." He nodded. "Okay. I'll wait for you in the hall."

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Don eased back into his bed, half-listening to his father, as the orderly pulled the wheelchair away. He felt a wave of dizziness as he moved; he took a deep breath, and felt it slowly recede. Megan, Colby and David had followed them up, and were waiting at the door for the orderly and the wheelchair to clear the room.

"Now, you heard the doctor," Alan lectured. "I know it feels like the cast gives you support, but keep your weight off that leg. You need to use your crutches. And if you need to get up, for God's sakes call someone to help you. I'm not going to be here to remind you."

'_Thank God,'_ thought Don, but he smiled at his father. "I heard."

His team drifted into the room, and Colby looked around. "Where'd Charlie go?"

"Must be in the bathroom, getting changed," said Alan.

The bathroom door was open, and David took a step back toward it and glanced in. "Not in here."

Alan turned, looking for the duffel, and spied a piece of paper on Charlie's bed. He picked it up, scowling as he read, and his head jerked up, angry eyes directed at Don. "What is this?"

Don looked at him with a frown of confusion. "What is what?" Alan thrust the paper at him, and he took in his brother's familiar scrawl, his frown deepening as he read aloud. "Dad, Went with Ian. Will be back tonight. Don will explain. Charlie." He looked up sharply at his team, who stared back with looks of confusion and consternation. "Do you guys know anything about this?"

They shook their heads, and Don looked back down at the paper again, his expression darkening.

"You mean you don't?" Alan snapped.

"No, I don't. I can't believe Ian did that," growled Don through clenched teeth. "He knew Charlie was supposed to be going home. After everything he went through, how could Ian even ask him – and where the hell did they go?" Alan's angry expression was being replaced by concern, and he looked anxiously back and forth between them.

"My guess would be back to the hotel," said David.

"He might have asked him to finish his analysis on the sites," added Megan, frowning. She glanced at Colby, and he raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

Don scowled, and sighed in exasperation. "Dad, do you have my cell phone?"

Alan pulled a bag from the corner, and handed him the phone. "You know you aren't supposed to use those in here."

"Screw it," snapped Don as he dialed. His jaw tightened as he listened to repeated rings, and he spoke into the phone with barely contained anger after the message beep. "Ian, this is Don. Please call me back as soon as possible. We need to talk about Charlie." He flipped the phone shut with a snap.

He looked up at his team. "Do me a favor. Head up to the hotel and one of you get Charlie and bring him back here. If Ian gives either you or him a hard time, tell him he needs to talk to me."

As they left the room, Don ran a hand over his head. It was throbbing, and the pain and his unease with the situation made frustration well up inside him. "Why would Charlie even go with him? He knew he was going home. Why wouldn't he just say no?"

Alan gave him a wry look. "For the same reason he won't say no to you." Don shook his head impatiently, as if in disagreement, but he said nothing, staring at his cast with a scowl. Neither of them had any idea how close Alan had come to the truth.

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Mansour paced back and forth, frantic. It was all wrong. He growled at the terrified deputy tied to the tree, and paced again, wringing his hands, his head jerking spastically. He could not proceed without the marked one's body. It had to be finished before he could mark the next one. What remained of his rational mind told him that the marked one was gone – he had left in the truck with the flashing lights. His madness overrode that thought. He would search for him again, just as he had since he had gone. He would find him and bring him back. There was no other option. It must be finished.

He leered at the deputy, the sickness twisting, writhing in his brain; and eyes bright with cunning and hatred, he turned, taking off at jog for the opening to the canyon, and the park entrance beyond.

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Edgerton pulled into the hotel parking lot. "I'll just be a minute," said Ian, glancing at Charlie. "I need to grab my pack." He jumped out of the truck. Peters was standing in the lot, talking to a couple of his deputies, and Charlie watched Edgerton stop and speak to them, and saw them glance his way.

The closer they had gotten to the park, the harder Charlie's heart pounded. He could feel the familiar beginnings of a panic attack, and he tried hard to control his breathing without being obvious. He was becoming less sure that this was a good idea. It wasn't that he didn't trust Ian, he reflected. It was Mansour and his horrifying unpredictability, his ability to appear and disappear at will, to do what he wanted without impunity; that terrified Charlie. Ian was now headed back to the truck, and Charlie swallowed his rising anxiety with an effort.

Twenty minutes later, they were at the trailhead. Charlie stared the forest in front of him as Ian lifted his pack out, almost incapacitated by fear, his legs shaking, his mind nearly frozen. He turned to face Ian, shame and misery on his face. "I – I don't know if I can do this," he began.

Edgerton's eyes narrowed and he took Charlie's arm, but his voice and his grip were gentle. "Charlie, you need to relax. Remember the horse? When you fall off, you need to get right back on again. You remember our ride?" Charlie nodded, his eyes downcast.

Ian continued, softly insistent. "You didn't want to go, but it came out fine. You need to trust me." He bent down so that he could look into Charlie's eyes. "I know you wouldn't want to disappoint your brother, and there's no need to. You handled the horse. You can do this."

Charlie lifted his head and looked back at him, and Ian held his eyes in an almost hypnotic gaze. "Are you with me, Charlie?"

Charlie broke the look with an effort, and said quietly, "Yes."

"Good." Ian shouldered his pack and stepped toward the trail, slinging his rifle over his arm.

Charlie looked around at the parking area, half expecting Peters or his men to pull in behind them. "Isn't anyone else coming with us?"

Ian turned and smiled. "Nope. It's just you and me, professor."

He swung back around and headed off onto the trail. Charlie's heart dropped, and he stood for a moment in indecision. In spite of himself, he grabbed the door handle of the truck in a sudden panic, feeling ashamed as he did so. Locked. As Edgerton disappeared into the trees, he abruptly realized he had no choice in the matter. The sudden quiet sent a surge of fear through him, and he hurried after Ian.

--------------------------End Chapter 15-----------------------------------------------------


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

"I don't see Ian's truck," said David. They had pulled into the lot at the hotel, and he scanned it as Colby parked.

Megan's brows were knit. "Maybe he dropped Charlie off. Or maybe they stopped for lunch on the way. Let's go check the war room."

They stepped into Room 103 to find Peters and some of his deputies, poring over a park map. Colby sauntered over to the table. "Hey guys, have you seen Edgerton or Charlie?"

Peters looked at them with surprise. "Yeah, they were just here. I thought you guys were going with them."

"Going where?" Megan asked, exchanging a puzzled glance with Colby.

"Edgerton said they were going back into the park for the afternoon. I guess I assumed that you were going with them." He glanced at his watch. "Shit – I told him I would post someone at the trailhead." He reached for his phone.

Colby, Megan and David looked at each other with dismay. "Wait a minute," exclaimed David as Peters started to dial. "When did they leave, and which trailhead?"

Peters paused. "Oh, about a half hour ago. Same trailhead that you went out of the other day. Edgerton said they're going to try to retrace Charlie's steps."

"Did any of your guys go with them?"

Peters shook his head. "No. Like I said, I thought you guys were going." He looked back at them, quizzically. "What's going on?"

They looked at each other. "We're not sure," Megan said slowly. "But I think it might be a good idea if they had a little support on the trail. Do you know which way they went?"

"Well, I'm not entirely certain, but Edgerton did say they were going to head for the river, and try to step it back from there." He pointed to the map, tapping a twisting blue line with his forefinger. "This is where we think Charlie crossed. Edgerton will probably take the trail to about here." He shifted his finger to the trail. "Then he'll probably cut over to the river."

"You can see how the trail twists around to the left, and then loops back. If you leave the trail and head directly for the river, you cut miles off the trip, a whole day's worth of hiking." He picked up a folded map and tossed it to David. "Grab a couple radios – he took one with him. You can probably raise him on it once you're in the park. I gotta make a call – I'll get someone posted at the trailhead. He'll be on frequency 2. We found out that one works the best there."

David snatched a couple of radios from the table, and they headed out. One of Peters' deputies shook his head as the door swung shut. "Why would they go out, just two of them? That's just damn stupid."

"Aw, those FBI guys are all cowboys," snorted another one. "You heard 'em. They don't even talk to each other."

"All right, pipe down," snarled Peters. "We got a man to find here. Let's figure out how we're going to set up the next search team."

Outside the room, the team paused and looked at each other. "What in the hell does Ian think he's doing?" growled Colby.

"I don't know," said Megan grimly, turning and heading for the truck. "But we'd better catch up with them." They jumped in and slammed the doors.

"Who's going to call Don?" asked David. The other two looked at him.

"Oh boy," said Colby. '_Not me_,' he thought.

"I will," said Megan quietly. "Get going."

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Mansour had gone to his spot near the trailhead. It was one of his many spots in the forest; years ago as a boy he had found this one, a dense clump of rocks and trees on a bluff. From it, one could look down and see the hikers enter the main trail below, oblivious to the watching eyes above them. It was the best place for picking the marked ones. There was another smaller trail that broke off before the main trail, and some of the hikers would go that way, but Mansour never picked hikers on that trail. It went right by his canyon, and he knew instinctively, in spite of his madness, not to bring attention to that place.

So, he selected the ones that took the main trail. He would know which ones they were as soon as he saw them. Often, he would have to follow them for miles before he would get a chance at them, but he always managed to get the one that he picked. He had found after the first one that he had to be careful how hard he hit them; they were no good to him dead. They shouldn't be roaming through the forest, he thought angrily, running off like that for hours. He had to teach them a lesson.

He squatted, rocking back and forth, muttering angrily to himself; sometimes raising his hands in meaningless gestures. He suddenly heard the sound of tires, crunching on the gravel of the parking area, and he froze. He melted back into his spot, waiting in his lair like a spider in his web, eyes glued to the trail. He heard voices, then nothing. After a moment he saw a man walking on the trail, and his heart quickened. He was one of the men who had been with the marked one. The man turned, walking backward, speaking to someone out of sight, and Mansour's heart leapt as a second, smaller man jogged into view and fell into place beside the first one. His heart bounded with joy and relief so intense it was painful, and it took everything he had to remain still. The marked one was here.

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Don's cell phone vibrated; and he snatched it off the table, glancing up as someone entered. The nurse had chosen that instant to bring in his lunch tray, and he palmed the phone, sliding it under his hospital gown, stealing a glance at the display. Megan. He would call her back as soon as this infernal nurse left.

"_Here_ you go," she sang, "real food for lunch. Let's see how you do with this."

Don forced a smile through his impatience. "Thanks." Keep it brief, no conversation, get the hell out. She bustled around, shook his water pitcher, picked up glasses. '_Come ON,' _he thought, fidgeting. His father, tired and thoroughly put out by the turn of events, had gone to the cafeteria for lunch himself, and Don hoped the woman wasn't waiting for him to come back. Finally, she scurried out, and he grabbed the phone, pulling up Megan's number from the missed calls, and hit dial.

"Megan," he said as soon as she answered. "You got him?"

"_No,"_ came the answer from the other end. _"We got to the hotel. They were there, but they left about a half hour ago."_

'_For where?_' Don wondered. "What'd they do, go to lunch?" Silence on the other end. "Megan?" He almost thought that the connection had broken, when her voice came over the line.

"_Don, Ian took him back out on the trail."_

"What?!" A rush of adrenaline hit him like a blow. "Is he crazy? What in the hell is going on?"

"_I don't know. Peters says Edgerton told him they were going to try to retrace Charlie's steps. He thinks they're taking a short cut off the trail. Edgerton told him they would be back by evening."_

Don sat for a moment, stricken. Had Edgerton lost his mind? Or was he just that cocky, to think that Charlie wouldn't be in danger if he was with him? Either way, it was irresponsible, unthinkable that he would put Charlie in that position. And Charlie – to agree to go – what kind of hold did Ian have over him, that he could convince him to do that?

"_Don?"_

The phone jolted him back to his senses. His voice shook. "Megan, you need to go after him. All of you."

"_We're already on the way. It sounds like we're a half hour behind them." _The phone crackled and hissed, and Megan's voice began to break up. "_We're almost to the trailhead. I think – going to lose - . -talk –,"_

"Megan?" The phone was obstinately silent. "Shit," he breathed, fear knifing through him, and he snapped the phone shut, staring helplessly at his lunch tray. He heard steps coming down the hallway. How was he going to break this to his father?

Thank God his father didn't know the whole story, he thought. Megan hadn't told Alan about Mansour's apparent fixation on his brother. If he did, if he knew how much of a target Charlie was…Don's stomach lurched with sickening fear. Maybe he shouldn't tell Alan that they went out on the trail at all. He would just let him think that they were up at the hotel – no sense putting his father through this. He would tell him after Charlie was back. Just be calm, be cool, Don told himself, and he won't suspect a thing.

The steps drew closer, and Alan entered the room, carrying a wrapped sandwich and coffee. He took one look at his son's pale face, and stopped in his tracks, apprehension in the pit of his stomach.

"Donnie? What's wrong?"

-----------------------End Chapter 16-----------------------------------------------------


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

The day was cool, and the sky gray. Charlie shivered, not entirely from the cold, and pulled his hooded jacket around him. Ian had him walk in front, and they had followed the trail in silence until they got to the break-off point. They had stepped off the trail then, sliding down a hill; the going got rougher and their progress had slowed. They picked their way through the trees, Ian directing as he consulted the park map.

Now the forest stretched around them, gloomy and solemn, an eeriness emanating from the pine trees. Fitful breezes sighed through their branches like spirits, wistfully mourning the dead. For a moment Charlie was saddened; it was a beautiful place, and ordinarily he would have liked to hike here. He knew, though, that this would be his last time; once this was over, he would never come back.

He was still apprehensive, but the exercise ate up some of the adrenaline in his body, and the panic had resided somewhat. Now that he had time to think, he wondered about what had transpired to bring him there. He didn't have his brother's street smarts, but he knew it was dangerous for him to be here. Don must have absolute trust in Ian's ability to keep him safe, he reasoned, or he never would have decided to have him do this.

He had to trust his brother, trust Ian. They were the ones with the training, with the knowledge of the criminal mind. Who was he to doubt them? He was a mathematician, not an FBI agent.

Still he couldn't shake the feeling that he was somehow being used. Memories from school lurked in the back of his mind – of all of the times schoolmates had asked him for help with their math and he gladly accepted. He hadn't had many friends, and each time he jumped willingly at their requests for assistance, thinking it might open a door, start up a friendship, and each and every time, as soon as they got the help they needed, they had nothing to do with him. He felt it even in recent years, when Don pushed him to take a case that he didn't have time for; he suspected sometimes that he was being taken for granted. No, he was no stranger to being used, and the pain that came with it.

He took a deep breath, berating himself. He was being ridiculous. Don would never use him in a way that would put him in danger, he told himself. It was one thing to try to talk him into adding yet another analysis into an already busy schedule. It was another entirely to put him in harm's way. Don would never do that. So this was okay, the fact that he was out here. It must be.

Edgerton kept close behind Charlie as they hiked. He knew that Don Eppes would be furious at this, and Charlie probably would be too, once he realized that Ian had lied to him, but he would have Charlie back this evening, safe and sound, and there would be little they could say about it. Ian knew that there was a risk in bringing Charlie back out, but he had supreme confidence in his ability to protect him; he planned to stick to Charlie like glue.

Besides, this was absolutely necessary. Even if Ian had stopped short of this, and asked Charlie only to finish his analysis, they would still have been far from catching Mansour. They would have to stake out the paths that Charlie identified, which would have meant several more days and possibly more victims, including the missing deputy. Trying to trace Charlie's flight path could bring an end to it all immediately.

Yes, thought Edgerton, if it went as planned and they found Mansour's site and the missing deputy, the benefits would far outweigh the risks. He purposely had kept the size of the group down to just the two of them – a large group would be more likely to attract Mansour's attention, and Edgerton didn't want him to know if they found his canyon. With any luck, they would slip in and out, under the radar, and Ian would come back in with a team to take down the site and Mansour.

They had been hiking for a while; still Charlie was surprised at how quickly they came to the river. They walked up the bank until he came to a place he thought he recognized. Sure enough, there was the stick he had used to probe the sandy spots when he crossed, still lying on the bank.

Charlie was starting to get tired again; the exhaustion from the previous days was beginning to catch up with him, and he stood for a moment, resting. He eyed the river, and memories of that night arose, swirling like the water. After crossing, he had made a sharp right and followed the river that night, he realized, taking him away from the route that they had just traveled.

Eventually he had ended up back on the trail, but far from the entrance. He had been completely disoriented by that time, and it was pure luck, he knew, that his path had crossed the one that Don and the team were on. If that had not happened, if they hadn't found him when they did, he would have died from exposure, or worse yet, have been found again by Mansour. He shivered, and turned back to the river.

They waded across the stream, probing with the stick again to be safe, and stomped the water from their boots. The sun was breaking through the clouds, and Charlie looked across the open area in front of them. The light shone on the stretches of grass and he paused, trying to get his bearings, unaware of the eyes on him.

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Megan, Colby and Don had parked next to Edgerton's truck, and swung up the trail at a jog. As they got into the park, David tried the radio, but with no luck. Edgerton either had his turned off or wasn't answering. As they got to the area where they thought that Edgerton and Charlie might have cut across, they started watching the trail edge.

"Here," said Colby, pointing. The hillside sloped downward, away from the trail, and there was a skid mark where someone had slid a little, plowing up pine needles and leaving a stretch of exposed mud. They oriented themselves with the map, picking out at distant bluff as a landmark, and plunged over the edge down the hill, trying to make up time.

Twenty minutes later, they had gotten to a ridge overlooking the small valley that the river ran through. The valley was open and grassy in most places, and as they looked across it, Megan's heart leapt with relief as she spotted the two distant figures. "There they are – they're just the other side of the river!"

Ian and Charlie were still a long way off, far out of shouting distance, and in fact almost unrecognizable, but it had to be them, and at least they were in sight. _'Thank God,'_ thought David, and they plowed down the hillside, headed towards the river.

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The valley posed problems for Mansour. He had kept close by them for most of their hike, but the man with the gun had stayed too close to the marked one, and he had not had a chance at him yet. Now they were near the river, and the open grassy stretches forced him away from them. He skulked and slunk from one bunch of trees to the next, breathing a sigh of relief as they crossed the last open patch and entered the forest on the other side. The forest was his domain, and he slipped into it, exulting in its familiar cover, as silent as a wraith, trying to close the distance between them.

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They had reached a dense stretch of forest, and Edgerton stood impassively, his stoic expression belying the impatience that swirled within him. Charlie was looking at the trees, stepping back and forth indecisively. Edgerton caught a faint crack of a branch off to the side, but he didn't turn his head. He knew that Mansour had found them. He caught a glimpse of someone lurking in the trees as they crossed the river valley, and had heard him behind them once they entered the woods on the other side. Mansour was impatient, and it was making him sloppy, but not nearly careless enough for Edgerton to get close to him, to even get off a shot.

He watched Charlie as he examined the forest in front of him. There was another victim out there somewhere, and Ian needed to know where Mansour had taken him. He was hoping that Charlie could remember enough to get them close, but that hope was fading fast.

Charlie looked back at him, anxiously. "I can't tell for sure. It was night, and we're going backwards. Everything looks different."

Inwardly, Edgerton felt his heart dip, and he writhed with impatience. Outwardly, his face was expressionless. "Which way do you think it is? Try heading that way and see if it looks familiar. We'll turn around and come back to this point if we have to."

Charlie turned back to the forest in front of him. They were near the top of a ridge. "Okay," he said. "Let's try this." He started over the ridge, and Edgerton followed.

Charlie crested the ridge and headed down the slope, glancing around him, suddenly nervous. The light was shining through the trees now, and creating bright patches of light punctuated by dark patches of shadow in the thicker growth. He steered clear of the shadows, picking his way among the trees.

A short way down the hill Charlie paused indecisively, concentrating on the landscape with a frown. Edgerton, a little farther back up the slope, heard a noise behind him, then another. It came from the other side of the ridge they had just traveled over. Mansour. He was close, much closer. Edgerton felt his heartbeat increase with anticipation. He could take him now; ambush him as he came over the ridge. He paused, listening, and then slipped silently back up the hill, melting into the undergrowth.

Charlie, unaware that he was now alone, pushed ahead down the hill, stopping again, puzzled, as he looked at a clearing in front of him. "I don't think this is right," he said, turning, his face registering confusion, then fear, as he realized that Edgerton was no longer with him. His heart contracted as terror jabbed at it, and he called out, his voice panicky. "Ian?"

He heard nothing but the sigh of the wind in the trees, the eerie creak of branches, and the pounding of his own heart.

"Ian?"

--------------------------------End Chapter 17------------------------------------------------


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

Edgerton would look back on it later and count it as one of the few mistakes of his career. There were several smaller errors and circumstances that precipitated the final events, some of which were outside his control, but they were no excuse. There never was a good excuse for a botched mission.

His first, and probably biggest error, was becoming emotionally involved in the case; he had let Mansour get to him, and as a result his judgment was clouded. His second was lying to both of the Eppes brothers – to Don by omission, and to Charlie outright, by leading the younger Eppes to believe that Don had wanted Charlie to come out on the trail with him

He had plenty of justification. He had been involved in operations before that had put civilians in harm's way, all of which had come out well. Had he sat down and thought about it at the time, he would have had to admit to himself that civilian involvement in those cases had never been intentional, however – this time it was. Those situations had also been well planned in advance – this was not; it was a spur-of-the-moment decision.

If he needed more justification, there was also the fact that there was a man out there somewhere, taken by Mansour, with a wife and children at home. As responsible as Edgerton felt for all of the victims, he felt even more so for the deputy; the man was one of his brothers in law enforcement, and he felt duty bound to protect his own.

His biggest rationalization was that he knew that he would not let Mansour hurt Charlie. Ian was still in control of the situation, or so he thought. What he didn't know was that there were several variables that were going to affect that control, three of which were at that moment ascending the ridge behind him.

He had moved back up toward the top of the ridge, but keeping Charlie in view below him. He heard Charlie call out his name, and the panic in Charlie's voice caused him a spasm of guilt, that he quickly tried to squelch. He had to focus on Mansour. For the first time in his life, he felt nerves intrude on him. He always felt adrenaline in a tense situation, but not fear; not something that made his breathing faster, not something that made him sweat, and never something that made his hand unsteady on the trigger. This was different, way different.

He was trying to calm his breathing, his eyes scanning the ridge just above him like a hawk. He could hear footsteps; something was wrong – they were too loud – in fact now he could hear that there was more than one person.

He swore softly to himself, and backed quietly toward the noise, still trying to keep an eye on Charlie. Whoever the hell this was, he had to get them out of the area.

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Charlie stood for a moment, rooted to the spot by fear. Where in the hell was Ian? His first panicked thought was that Mansour had gotten to him, but there had been no noise. Charlie couldn't believe that Ian would have gone down without some kind of struggle. He must be reconnoitering, thought Charlie; maybe he had seen something and was investigating it. It seemed odd that Ian would not have told him that before he stepped away, but that had to be it. There was only one other alternative – that Ian had left him on purpose to draw out Mansour, and that was out of the question. The thought raised a nagging doubt in his mind, but he pushed it aside impatiently. Ian would never do that, he told himself

So, if Ian was checking out the area, Charlie assumed that he should stay put. That would be the logical thing to do. Logic was fighting a losing battle against panic, however. It was all he could do to contain the urge to run back up the ridge the way they had come. He looked around him, turning, nervously eyeing the thicker patches of smaller pines and scrub, starting at each little noise. The wind in the tree branches was picking up, the sighing was growing louder, drowning out the smaller noises; and for that reason; he didn't hear Mansour. He had no idea that he was there until he turned again, and saw him crouching, his eyes burning, next to a dense thicket.

Charlie froze for a moment, horror driving the breath from his body, then gasped and backpedaled toward the clearing, turning, stumbling as he did. He flailed his arms, maintaining his footing, but it was enough to slow him down. Mansour charged like a wild animal, leaping at Charlie and tackling him around the waist. Charlie screamed Ian's name, and the terror-filled sound reverberated through the forest, as they went down in a tangle of arms and legs.

He ended up on his back with Mansour on top of him, struggling frantically. Mansour grappled with him, and drew his arm back, delivering a fast vicious punch to Charlie's face, then another. Charlie turned his head slightly as the first one hit, and it landed on his cheekbone. He saw stars, and dazed, never realized the second punch was coming. It was an uppercut to the jaw, and it snapped his lower jaw into his upper with a force that drove his head backward, up, and into a rock behind it, and brought down a curtain of blackness, as his body went limp.

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Colby trudged up over the top of the ridge, glancing back over his shoulder at Megan and David. He turned his head back forward, and nearly tumbled backwards in shock. Edgerton had materialized out of nowhere, and stood right in front of him, scowling at them.

"What in the hell are you doing?" Edgerton hissed.

Colby bristled. "I could ask you the same thing."

Megan and David ran up the last part of the grade, cresting the top, and stood beside Colby, panting.

"Where's Charlie?" demanded David, glaring.

"He's down there," growled Edgerton, jerking his head to a spot down the slope. "You need to back off. I have this situation under control."

"Like hell you do," snapped David, his eyes flaring with righteous anger. "Charlie's coming back with us."

Edgerton glared back, and was opening his mouth to reply, when Charlie's agonized scream ripped through the forest. "Shit," he hissed instead, and ran forward to get a view of the clearing below. He got into position behind a windfall, where he had a clear line of sight, just in time to witness the brutal punches to Charlie's face, and he winced.

The other agents ran up behind him, their faces drawn with shock. Colby started down the slope, but Edgerton flung out an arm, and pulled him behind the windfall. "Wait." Edgerton's mind was whirling. The situation was spiraling out of control, and he knew he needed to make a fast decision. This development would put Charlie out of the picture; he would be unable to help trace his steps, and if Edgerton took out Mansour, their chances of finding the deputy were remote. "There's another man out there. We need to let them go, follow Mansour to the canyon."

Colby stared at him. "Are you crazy?"

Megan eyed him with fierce intensity. "That's an unacceptable risk. Charlie's hurt; he needs medical attention." She looked at the clearing with growing panic. Mansour was crouched over Charlie, swiveling his head, scanning the woods around him, and they all ducked behind the windfall instinctively.

"He's been knocked out," retorted Edgerton. "A few minutes one way or another won't make a difference. For all we know, we're right on top of Mansour's hideout."

"No," said David angrily. "No way. What if Charlie comes to? How can you predict what Mansour will do?"

Megan was watching the clearing anxiously, half listening to the dispute, and her stomach clenched as she watched Mansour reach down and begin to lift Charlie.

"Does the other man's life mean nothing to you?" snapped Edgerton. "Tell me how we're going to find him if we don't do this."

"I don't know," growled Colby, "but this just isn't right."

"You listen to me," snarled Edgerton. "I'm still lead agent on this case. You will follow orders, or you will get the hell out. If Charlie comes to, or if it looks like Mansour is going to hurt him further, I give you my word, I will take Mansour out on the spot." He glared at them, and they returned his look with stubborn defiance.

Taking their silence as acceptance, he continued. "I need to follow them without Mansour's knowledge, and I can't do it with you on my ass. If you want to follow for support, fine, but stay well back of me. If you tip off Mansour, and he knows we're back here, he's going to try harder to lose us. Do you understand me?"

Megan was watching Mansour in the open space below with barely contained anxiety. Mansour had lifted Charlie to his shoulder and was nearly to the tree line at the edge of the clearing. She hissed with impatience. "You need to quite arguing over this – we hear you, now move!"

Flashing them one last angry glance, which was returned in triplicate, Edgerton turned and quickly headed down the slope after Mansour, who was disappearing into the forest.

"That son of a bitch!" breathed Colby, his face contorted with fury.

Megan looked at the other agents, who appeared ready to explode. She didn't like the situation either, but Edgerton wasn't giving them a choice. If they tried to fight him, they ran the risk of Mansour getting away. "Get a grip, guys. We need to keep our heads."

"He set him up," said David, between clenched teeth.

"We don't know that," replied Megan tersely. "They were together, and Charlie was okay, until just now. For all we know, we created the situation by distracting Edgerton."

They looked stricken at this. Colby saw Edgerton reach the clearing, and started to move forward, scowling. "He never should have brought him out here to begin with."

"I've got to agree with you there," conceded Megan, falling in behind him. Her gut clenched with sudden doubt and a feeling of premonition. How on earth did they get into this situation? "Stay back; give Edgerton his space, but whatever we do, we can't lose them."

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Edgerton soon found himself in one of the most demanding situations he had ever been in. Mansour was tough to follow; he knew the forest, he moved fast and he was in a state of high alert, stopping frequently to listen, and using cover to try to lose anyone that might be following. Edgerton's tracking and shadowing skills were unparalleled, however; and Mansour was slowed down by his burden, so had it just been him and Mansour, he would have found the situation challenging, but doable.

The three agents behind him threw a whole different light on it, however. Although they were following well back of him, and were thankfully keeping a low profile, he had to be concerned not only about Mansour seeing him, but them also, especially when they hit more open areas of forest, where Mansour could see for a distance. As a result, Edgerton had to hang back further than he would have liked. There were a couple of ugly moments when he thought he had lost them, and he stopped, heart pounding, but in each case he caught a glimpse of them far ahead, and hurried to catch up.

As they moved on, he realized with surprise that they were heading back toward the park entrance, not toward the main trail; they were moving at more of angle, but it was definitely that direction. After about twenty minutes, they hit trail, and he realized suddenly where they were. This was a smaller trail that headed to the right out of the parking area, a shorter one that was used by day hikers.

This trail was about a four hour trip total, and could be less if the hiker wanted a shorter trip, because it was out and back instead of a loop. As a result it got a lot of traffic. In spite of the large number of hikers it saw, there was never an attack or a body found on it, so they hadn't committed much in the way of manpower to checking it out. '_Big mistake_,' he thought to himself, shaking his head grimly.

Today the trail was empty. Still Mansour kept to the edge of it, now hyper-alert; ready to duck into cover. Keeping out of sight on the relatively open trail had become more difficult, and Edgerton was forced to walk off the trail, sticking to cover, and it was slowing him down. To make matters worse, cliff walls were beginning to rise on the left, and the ground began to slope away on the right. Soon, the only cover would be to the right, and it would be downhill of the trail, making it easy for Mansour to observe anyone that might be following.

As the trail curved around the rocks, and the cliffs began to rise, Edgerton realized grimly that he had no choice. His only option was to stay back, using the bend in the trail and the cliffs as cover, but staying out of sight also meant that he would lose sight of Mansour and Charlie. As long as they were along this section of the trail, he would have to allow them to remain out of his view, and wait until they got past the cliffs to re-establish visual contact. The only positive thing about it was the fact that he no longer needed to worry about Mansour picking up the agents behind him; the cliffs were hiding them as well.

Ian slowed slightly; he had no way of knowing how fast Mansour was going, and he couldn't afford to come bursting around a corner into his line of sight. The cliffs were rising more steeply, punctuated by thick pockets of small pines, some of which appeared to be growing right out of the rocks, and he stuck to the edges of them when he could, figuring he could duck into them for cover if he needed to. Eventually the trail reached its zenith and began to descend, and the cliffs started to recede. Edgerton breathed a little easier; Charlie and Mansour had been out of his sight for several minutes, and he was anxious to pick them up again.

He was certain that they had to be ahead on the trail; they could hardly scale the cliffs, and he could see for a long distance into the valley to his right. He rounded a large outcropping, and finding himself exposed, immediately ducked, sidling next to the cliffs. The trail dropped off and straightened suddenly, then curved right, exposing a long view ahead of him. His heart lurched as he scanned it, and saw nothing, no movement; no sign of them. His line of sight was unobstructed for the better part of a mile; they couldn't have gotten that far ahead of him.

He forced himself to stand still for a moment, watching the valley and the trail ahead for signs of movement. There was nothing, and apprehension rose in him. They had disappeared, seemingly into thin air. He felt an unfamiliar twinge of panic, and he wrenched his thoughts into order. He had to think, to keep control. He needed to backtrack, he told himself, to look at the trail behind him to see if they had left it somehow. Casting one more look at the valley, he headed back, treading quietly, heart pounding, his senses razor sharp, not knowing if he was going to come face to face with them at any moment, and hoping suddenly, desperately, that he would.

-------------------End Chapter 18------------------------------------------------------


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Charlie came to as Mansour pushed through the last of the dense stand of pines into the canyon. The first sensation he was aware of was the pain on the left side of his face, followed immediately by the impression that he was moving, and finally by the realization that he was being carried, flung over Mansour's back like a sack. Branches grabbed and scratched at him and he began to struggle. Mansour responded by immediately flinging him down hard on his back, forcing the air out of his lungs, and grabbed him under the arms, clamping a hand over his mouth.

Charlie gasped for breath under the dirty hand, feeling new pain in his jaw at the pressure, and struggled desperately, kicking and writhing. He grabbed at Mansour's arms, but the man's grip was like iron, and he pulled Charlie forward inexorably into the canyon. He stopped suddenly, twisting Charlie and forcing him to the ground, and as Charlie was turned, he caught a glimpse of someone tied to a tree, and a towel on the ground, sickeningly familiar, littered with tools.

He ended up face down with Mansour's knee in his back, his hands pulled roughly behind him. Mansour was taping them together, he realized, and he writhed with new effort and cried out in panic. Mansour's hand immediately shot out and closed around his windpipe, choking off the cry and his air supply. He started to see stars, then the pressure released, and in the next instant he felt dirty hands come around his head, forcing duct tape over his mouth as he gasped for air, winding the tape around his head for good measure. His feet were still free, and he used them for leverage, thrashing and kicking, and landed a sharp blow to Mansour's shin.

Mansour emitted a feral sound, something between a muffled shriek and a growl, and kicked Charlie savagely in return. The first blow caught him in his unprotected abdomen, and air left him in a rush. It was followed by several others, the blows hitting his legs, his torso, his back. Mansour was swearing at him, snarling something about him running off. Charlie finally stopped struggling as the heavy boot landed a blow to his back, catching him in the kidney, and he gasped in agony, suddenly incapacitated by pain.

He felt Mansour taping his ankles together, as he lay on his side, overcome, his chest heaving; his face toward the towel. Rough hands pulled off his boots and socks; then heard Mansour rise and begin pacing behind him, and he lay still. Maybe if he acted as if was unconscious, Mansour would leave him alone. He shut his eyes, gut clenched against the pain generated by the beating he had received, trying to level his breathing. He heard Mansour's footsteps receding, back toward the way they had come, and he drew a deep shuddering breath, relieved for a moment; but the relief was dwarfed by the terror that rose in him as full awareness of his predicament sunk in.

He realized that one of two things must have happened. The first was that Mansour had somehow gotten to Ian, and incapacitated him, or worse. This didn't seem likely; there had been no sounds of struggle, and the idea that any single person could better Ian in combat seemed unbelievable at best, but it was a possibility. If Mansour had taken Charlie against Ian's will, and Ian was still alive, he never would have allowed Mansour to get this far.

The second was one that so horrified Charlie that he didn't even want to consider it – that this entire trip was planned with him as bait – that Ian had set him up and had left him to Mansour on purpose, and by his agreement, so had his brother. That absolutely couldn't be, he told himself, fighting against despair, knowing that neither of the two options were good. If the first was true, and Mansour had taken Ian out, he was facing a horrible death. If the second option was true, he realized slowly, with sickening certainty, if he had been betrayed by his own brother, he would welcome that death, in any form.

The only thing he could believe, he told himself, as he began shivering uncontrollably, was that Ian was dead. He could not; he _refused_ to go to his death thinking that his brother had allowed this to happen. It couldn't be. All of the times he had been taken advantage of in the past, as if he was not so much a person as a math textbook, rose in his memory, eating like demons at his resolve, and he stifled a sob. He bit it off as he heard footsteps behind him, and tried to control the shaking that wracked his body.

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Edgerton crept back around the trail, retracing his steps, fighting the unfamiliar sensation of fear. He stopped suddenly as he heard a scrape of a foot on gravel. One of the pine thickets that dotted the cliff face was just ahead, and he slipped into it, melting into the branches. The owner of the foot came into view and his heart dropped as he saw who it was. When they came abreast of him he called out the name of the agent in front.

"Granger."

Colby spun toward the voice, Megan and David after him, reaching for their service weapons. Edgerton stepped out carefully from the trees, and they stopped, re-holstering their pistols, their faces guarded.

"Where are they?" asked Megan quietly.

Edgerton didn't reply. It seemed suddenly impossible to utter the words. Getting hold of himself with an effort, he spoke, his calm voice and expressionless eyes masking the fear and anxiety that gripped him. "I don't know."

"You don't know!" exploded David. He took a menacing step forward, stopping only as he felt Megan's arm on his. Colby stared at Edgerton in disbelief. The man was a legend, and Colby had always regarded him in awe. His fall from grace was utter and complete in Colby's eyes, and he regarded Edgerton with shock and contempt.

Edgerton stared back, for all appearances unmoved. "I'm backtracking. The trail opens up ahead; you can see for over a mile. They didn't get that far. They had to have stepped off the trail somewhere along these cliffs. We need to go back and search every bit of cover. I have an idea where we may have missed them."

Megan's face was cold and grim. "And that would be?"

Edgerton jerked his head toward the pine thicket behind him. "Charlie mentioned coming out of the canyon through a thick section of pine trees. I think one of these thickets is hiding the entrance to the canyon. I've been probing each one as I've come back up the trail." The agents' eyes shifted to the thicket as if they expected Mansour to materialize from it.

Edgerton turned toward it, pushing through the branches, disappearing into them toward the cliff face behind. The rest of them looked at each other, and were preparing to follow him in, when he reappeared. "This one isn't it; there isn't an opening in the rock," he said. He pushed past them onto the trail, his steps brisk. "We need to get moving. We don't have much time."

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Charlie lay with his eyes shut; trying to be still, but the tremors apparently had given him away. He felt hands gripping his arms, turning him roughly on his back. He opened his eyes almost against his will. Mansour was glaring at him, his eyes dancing with terrifying insanity, muttering to himself. He straddled Charlie, pushing him to the ground with his arms pinned painfully behind him. Beyond Mansour Charlie could see a man tied to a tree, the same tree that Charlie had been tied to a few days earlier. The man's face was also duct-taped, but his eyes were open, and he was looking at Charlie with horror, laced with pity.

Charlie's gaze was wrenched back to Mansour as he caught the glint of a knife in his peripheral vision. Mansour pulled open his jacket and gripped his shirt, slicing it open at the front, and ran his hands over Charlie's stitched and healing cuts, his face darkening in anger. He exploded suddenly, dropping the knife and pounding Charlie's rib cage with his fists, one blow following another.

"You cannot hide the marking!" he raged, delivering another vicious blow, this one generating a sickening crack. Charlie's chest heaved as he tried unsuccessfully to bring in air, and Mansour grabbed suddenly at a section of stitches, ripping them apart with his fingers. Charlie gasped, air rushing painfully into his lungs, as Mansour picked up the knife. Holding Charlie by the neck to keep him still, he traced over the original cuts with the blade, slicing through stitches and healing skin. A moan, muffled by the tape, escaped Charlie, and he closed his eyes in terror and pain.

Mansour grunted in satisfaction as he finished, and his voice changed, picking up the slurring drawl he had used earlier. "Decided to come home, did you, boy? Where in the hell were you, anyway? You think you ken jist run around fer hours at a time, without a by-yer-leave? I'll show you, you lil' sonofabitch. This'll keep you from runnin'."

As he talked he turned around, still straddling Charlie, but facing his feet, with his weight lower down, immobilizing Charlie's legs. Charlie thrashed, desperately twisting his torso, but his legs were firmly pinned. Mansour paused for a moment. He needed to tie off the legs and feet, but no - he had done that already.

His sick mind twisted with confusion. He was growing impatient; the urge to cut overwhelming him. Forget the wires. Cut. He would cut the damn boy's toe off. He grasped Charlie's right foot, brought the knife to the base of his small toe, and shifting his grip, bore down with the blade. Charlie screamed; a horrible sound made no less terrible by the gag, as the blade went through the skin and into bone.

"Mansour!" Edgerton's voice cracked through the forest.

Mansour's head jerked up, and he reacted almost immediately, scrambling backwards, lifting Charlie and pulling him against his chest, still clutching the bloody knife. Charlie's eyes fell on Edgerton, and in spite of the haze of pain, he realized what it meant. Edgerton was alive. Charlie's eyes widened and his heart plunged as the knowledge hit him; he had been set up. '_It can't be true,'_ he thought wildly, but the denial faded as he saw Colby, and then Megan and David, advancing with their weapons leveled. He gasped, sickened. _'They were all in on it,'_ he thought, horrified, and he slumped in despair against Mansour, his eyes staring blankly, deadened by defeat.

"Drop the knife, Mansour!" commanded Edgerton. His eyes flicked to Charlie, who was covered in blood and appeared to be in shock.

Mansour screamed back at them, twisting and writhing anxiously behind Charlie. "You can't take him! He is marked! Can't you see that he is marked?" His last words sprayed out with spittle, almost unintelligible, and ended in an inhuman howl.

Raising his knife, he began striking at Charlie's right thigh, plunging the knife repeatedly, madly, as if he intended to hack off Charlie's leg. Charlie felt the pain as if from a distance, watching the knife dispassionately; the sensation was nothing in the face of the despair that gripped his heart like a vise. In his frenzy, Mansour's grip on Charlie slipped, and Charlie slid lower against his body, giving Edgerton a clear shot. As Mansour raised the knife again, Edgerton's rifle cracked, and a neat hole appeared in Mansour's forehead. His jaw slacked, and the knife fell from his nerveless hand, point first, landing in Charlie's abdomen; handle quivering. Mansour fell backwards, his eyes open, staring, and finally still.

Megan, Colby, and David rushed toward them, David checking Mansour quickly to be sure he was gone, as Megan and Colby knelt by Charlie, who was staring in stunned fascination at the knife in his gut. They freed his hands and feet, and turning from Mansour, David carefully peeled the duct tape from Charlie's face and head. Colby and David turned at once, both looking for the pack containing the aid kit, as Megan moved down toward Charlie's foot.

She turned in time to see Charlie, with a dazed expression, grasp the knife handle sticking out of his lower abdomen and pull. "Charlie, no!" she gasped, as he stared at the bloody knife blankly; then let it fall on the ground. He turned his head away from them, his hand dropping lifelessly at his side. She looked up at Colby, stunned, and he shook his head and grimaced. '_No sense telling Charlie that he shouldn't have done that,'_ he thought. '_We sure don't need to panic him; he already looks like he's heading for shock.'_

Edgerton stepped over to the tree, cutting the rope binding the deputy, who immediately ripped the duct tape from his face, bent over, and vomited, leaning against the tree for support. "Jesus, God," he gasped, and turned, staring at Charlie and Mansour in horror. Edgerton left him by the tree and squatted down by the other agents.

Colby was the only one of them that had taken a pack, and he had stuffed the first aid kit in it at the last minute, but they didn't have a chance to replenish it yet, and there was little left in the way of bandages. Charlie's toe was hanging from his foot, blood pouring out of the wound, and Megan grabbed what little gauze there was and began carefully wrapping his foot, trying to hold the toe in place.

"I need more bandages," she said, looking at them in desperation, holding his foot. Blood was already seeping through the gauze, and Charlie's torso and thigh were saturated. She looked at him in dismay. '_So much blood,' _she thought, fearfully. Colby ripped off his jacket, pulling off his sweatshirt and his T-shirt and started tearing the T-shirt into strips, and David followed suit.

Megan spoke soothingly to Charlie, trying to keep her own voice calm. "It's okay, Charlie, hang in there, we're going to take care of you." Charlie was oddly silent, his head turned away from them, his face barely registering pain, his eyes dull and lifeless, and his behavior sent a new pang of fear through her. '_It looks like he's given up,'_ she thought, as she wrapped strips of T-shirt around his foot.

Colby and David were doing their best to bind Charlie's thigh when Edgerton rose, his gaze fixed on something in the trees. He trotted off, and Colby followed him with his eyes, his face suspicious. Megan was looking helplessly at the blood coming from Charlie's abdomen, and David tossed her his sweatshirt; she folded it up as best she could and pressed on the wound. This finally got a reaction from Charlie; his eyes rolled and he groaned in pain. His breathing was becoming slightly labored, and Megan's eyes met Colby's in concern.

"You doing okay, there, Charlie?" she asked, trying to get a response from him. She got one, but not what she wanted; he looked at her silently for just a moment, his chest heaving and his face filled with pain and sadness; then turned his head away again.

Edgerton had spotted Mansour's campsite hidden back in the trees, and he returned from it dragging a tarp. Speaking sharply to the dazed deputy, he got the man on his feet and they started folding the tarp around two long branches, fashioning a stretcher. Finished, Edgerton rose and pulled out his radio, glancing at Charlie as he spoke. Megan heard him speak with relief; it meant he had managed to reach someone, and she heard his request for an ambulance.

David and Colby shrugged their jackets back on, and they lifted Charlie gently onto the stretcher. Edgerton had found a blanket along with the tarp; it was dirty, but they used it anyway, covering Charlie to help ward off shock. Edgerton faced them. "I'm staying here to wait for the forensics team," he said. The group stared back at him, distrust obvious on their faces. He ignored the look and continued. "Once you're out on the trail, head right. You're less than an hour from the trailhead." He regarded Charlie for a moment, his face impenetrable. "You'd better get going," he said quietly.

They headed off without a word. Colby and David carried the stretcher, and Megan walked behind, followed by the deputy, who took one last look at the sight over his shoulder, shuddering. They pushed through the pine thicket, Megan stepping beside the stretcher and using her hands to shield Charlie's face from the grasping branches, and they broke free onto the trail, heading for the trailhead.

Colby was at the rear of the stretcher, and he glanced down at Charlie, who had been nearly silent throughout the whole ordeal. What he saw in Charlie's eyes brought a frown of concern to his face. He had seen that look in the eyes of fallen comrades in Afghanistan; it was the look of horror, despair, and sad acceptance that said that they had given up, and Colby's gut clenched, remembering. Not one of them, once they had that look in their eyes, had made it.

-----------------------------End Chapter 19------------------------------------------------


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Don stared at the cast on his leg with increasing impatience. It had been hours since he had heard anything, and the frustration was overwhelming. He knew he was actually being kept in the hospital by the doctor because of the concussion; the odd thing was that as far as he was concerned, it was the cast that held him there. Had he not been encumbered by the cast, the broken leg, he would have been out on the trail with his team, concussion or not.

Alan had risen, and was pacing back and forth, through the room, out to the hallway, into the room, and back again. His father had seen right through him as soon as he walked into the room at lunchtime; and Don had ended up breaking the news that Charlie was out on the trail with Ian. He did leave out the fact that Mansour was apparently obsessed with Charlie, but judging from his father's reaction, the omission didn't help much.

His father made another round. Don tried to ignore Alan's pacing; it wanted to make him scream. He certainly understood why his father was doing it, but it was a constant irking reminder that he couldn't move himself; he was pinned to his bed by the cast, immobile, useless.

He sighed, and looked at the time display on his cell phone. 4:41 pm. Charlie and Ian had been gone over five hours - nearly six. His head was throbbing and he closed his eyes, leaning back on the pillow, trying to quell his rising anxiety. It was a big forest, he reasoned. They could get in and out and Mansour might never know they were there. No news was good news, right?

The phone vibrated in his hand and he jerked his head off the pillow, eyes flying open along with the cell phone, ignoring the pain that the movement generated. His father entered the room on one his rounds and stopped, frozen, as he saw Don lift the cell phone to his ear.

"Eppes." Short pause. "Yeah, David, you found him?" Alan's heart dropped as he saw Don's face pale, and a tense silence ensued, as Don listened. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet, filled with suppressed emotion. "How bad?" Alan sat heavily in a chair as his heart plunged, and his legs lost their strength. This time the silence was interminable. "Okay," said Don finally, his voice shaking. "I know. We'll be here."

He hung up the phone and looked at his father mutely. The look said more than words could, and Alan returned it in silence, waiting for his son to speak, and dreading what would come when he did.

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They reached the trailhead in just over forty-five minutes. The ambulance was there waiting, and they decided that Megan would ride with Charlie. They had transferred him to the gurney; he was still conscious, but looked dazed, his eyes half closed. He lay limply, and everything about him suggested defeat; his posture; his expression; the look in his eyes.

Colby leaned over him, trying to get Charlie to look at him. "Hey, Charlie. You're headed to the hospital; everything's going to be okay. You hang in there for me, okay?"

Charlie didn't respond; he stared right past Colby as if he wasn't there, and Colby felt a spasm of anxiety. "You promise me, you hang in there." Colby looked up at Megan, helplessly, and she reflected that it was a look she had never seen on his face before. She was certain she had the same one on her own.

Colby backed away, as the medics moved forward to load the gurney into the vehicle. Megan stepped in behind them. "Call Don," she said quietly and they nodded, watching the doors close behind her.

They headed for the truck, and Colby rummaged in his pack for shirts. He had none clean, but he pulled out two of the least offensive and tossed one to David, who was already on his cell phone. Peters and his men were clustering around the returned deputy, as Colby and David jumped into the truck and headed for the hospital.

The ambulance ride seemed to take forever. The medics worked quickly, taking readings, starting an IV line, applying pads and pressure to wounds, and all the while Charlie lay there, unresponsive. He was so limp that had his eyes not been open, Megan would have sworn he was unconscious. The medic tried to test his responsiveness by asking him some simple questions, but Charlie refused to answer. An oxygen mask went over his face, and it somehow seemed to accentuate his eyes, and the deadness in them. Megan reached for Charlie's hand and tried to hold it, but he pulled it away and turned his head.

As they neared the hospital, some of the activity slowed; the medics had done most of what they could, and were now primarily monitoring vitals. Megan took advantage of the lull to lean forward, putting her face in front of Charlie's. She could see his eyes closing, and his breathing was becoming more labored.

"BP's dropping," said one of the medics, watching the monitor.

Megan's glance flicked toward him anxiously, then back at Charlie. "Charlie," she said with quiet urgency. "Charlie, listen to me. We're almost there. Your Dad is waiting for you. Don is waiting for you. You need to hang in there, okay?"

Charlie gazed at her blankly, only reacting when he heard Don's name. An expression of pain flickered over his face, and his eyes closed, and as they did, tears rolled out of each of them, streaking down the sides of his battered face. Megan caught her breath, and stared at him helplessly. By the time they reached the hospital doors, Charlie was unconscious, and she was crying too.

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Edgerton sat quietly, staring at Mansour's body. How had it all gone so wrong? It was just supposed to be a simple reconnaissance mission. If he hadn't been distracted, Mansour would never have gotten to Charlie. If Edgerton had followed more closely, if he had managed to catch them as they entered the canyon, if….The rationalization was meaningless. In retrospect, it had been insane to even think of it, to put a civilian in that position.

Edgerton had trodden many lines, crossed over some of them, in his career, and whether by luck or by skill, the situations had always turned out alright. This one hadn't. The luck wasn't there; the skill was for the first time inadequate. Obsessed by the case, he had gone over a line again, the biggest, most drastic one he had ever crossed, and he didn't know how to get back.

He thought back to three days before; was it only three days? His mind returned to the trip on horseback with Charlie, their easy conversation, and the huge smile on Charlie's face after the ride. He liked Charlie. They really weren't so different. Both of them were renowned in their fields, both of them loners of a sort, their lives governed by their professions. Edgerton didn't have friends to speak of; his life didn't allow for relationships of any kind, acquaintances maybe, but not relationships, not anyone he could call a friend. If he did, though, he thought, Charlie would have been one of them. He smiled bitterly. '_What in the hell does that say about you?' _he thought to himself._ 'Would you have done this to a friend?'_

He stared again at Mansour. The bullet hole in Mansour's forehead was small and neat, but Edgerton knew that the back of his head was another story. The mission was accomplished, he realized dully. He had saved a fellow officer, and had eliminated a dangerous serial killer, but at what cost? The possible cost of a life of someone who trusted him, perhaps the cost of his career, and most telling of all, the cost of a piece of his own soul. He closed his eyes and listened to the wind sighing in the trees. Edgerton didn't cry. He never cried. But that day, he came closer to it than he ever had, and ever would again.

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Don watched his father leave the room for Emergency, his heart thumping. He wasn't supposed to leave himself, but he couldn't bear the thought of not being there when his brother came in. His rational mind told him that there would be nothing he could do anyway, but his emotions screamed that he needed to be present, to be there physically, to show his support, to help his brother in any way that he could.

He groaned impatiently, and looked around him as if searching for answer to his dilemma. He could hardly wing his way down the hall on crutches; his hospital gown flapping in the breeze. Apart from the indecent exposure, someone on the hospital staff would question the fact that he was out in the halls. He couldn't stand this, however; it was intolerable to wait, to wonder.

His eyes fell on the bag that his father had brought, stuffed in the corner, and a spark of inspiration hit him. Sliding out of his bed awkwardly, he reached for his crutches. He paused for a moment as a wave of dizziness hit, and then receded, and hobbled over to the bag. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, slipping them on and removing the gown, and with a cautious look out of the door, crutched down the hall, ignoring the throbbing in his head and leg.

Downstairs, he pulled up quietly behind his father, who was standing in the hallway anxiously watching the entrance doors. Don immediately swiveled, balancing on his good leg, hiding his face by scratching his head, as the ER doctor passed, moving quickly down the hallway. Alan felt the presence behind him and turned. "Donnie! What do you think you're doing?"

"I couldn't sit up there, Dad, I had to be here. Look, I'm fine."

Alan's eyes snapped with anger. "You didn't think I had enough to worry about here?" He stared at Don's tense face for a moment and his expression wavered. He opened his mouth to soften his words, but his attention was arrested by the sound of a siren and a sudden commotion outside.

The doors to the ER burst open, the gurney propelled by medics on the run, Megan beside it, but it halted as they were met in the hall by the doctor. Don started to move toward the gurney, following his father, but was stopped in his tracks by the sight of Megan's tear-streaked face. His heart plunged. "God, no," he thought, reeling.

Her eyes came up and caught his, and he heard the doctor say tersely, "Take him straight up to the OR; they're waiting." His heart resumed beating, painfully, and he clutched at his crutches, but his shaking hands couldn't propel him any closer. It didn't matter, the gurney was headed toward him, and he caught a quick glimpse of his brother's face, half of it swollen and discolored, half of it ghostly white under the mask. Bloody pads covered his chest, and the skin that peeked through them also bore ugly bruises.

He felt the swish of air as the gurney rushed past him, and he was left staring up the hallway in shock, as he watched their retreating backs. As he turned to look after them, a wave of dizziness hit; he staggered, the hallway whirling, and he felt his father's arms support him as he slumped to the floor.

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They gathered in Don's room to wait. Don had endured a ride back up to his bed in a gurney; then an irate visit from the doctor. The dizziness had passed quickly, but he knew he had given up his chance to argue about being allowed to see his brother when he found himself on the hallway floor. He was back in his bed, pinned to it as surely as he would be if he were chained. His father had arranged a compromise with the doctor; any reports on progress would be delivered to the room, and Charlie's doctor would see them there when the surgeons were done.

Don looked at Megan across the room. She could see the unspoken question in his eyes; his need to know what happened, but she knew they shouldn't give him a report in front of Alan. She glanced at David and Colby meaningfully and spoke to Alan. "You know, it's after six, and we haven't eaten all day. How about we go get some sandwiches and bring them up?"

Colby had missed her glance. He shook his head and opened his mouth to say that for once he wasn't hungry, but a swift elbow from David caught him. He looked up, recovering as he saw the looks on their faces. "Yeah, food sounds good," he said lamely.

Alan knew that Megan was trying to get him out of the room, but he didn't protest. He nodded, and they left the room, as Don fixed his gaze on Colby and David. "What in the hell happened out there?"

They looked at each other, and David spoke first, slowly. "We're not entirely sure. We followed them, and caught up with them after they crossed the river. We lost sight of them when they went into the woods, but we tried to follow. We didn't know they were so close; we came up a ridge, and as we got to the top Edgerton was there."

Don eyes were piercing. "Where was Charlie?"

Colby answered. "We asked the same question. Edgerton just motioned down the hill, and told us to back off. We heard Charlie yell, and when we got to where we could see him, Mansour was with him. He must have knocked Charlie out – he wasn't moving."

David scowled. "Edgerton was pissed. He told us we could follow, but not with him – he made us stay back – said we would tip off Mansour."

Don frowned. "What do you mean 'tip off?' He went after Mansour, right?"

They looked at each other, and David spoke again. "He went after Mansour, but not to stop him. He was trying to follow him back to the canyon."

Don stared, his breath momentarily leaving him. "What?" he finally hissed, his face contorting. "And you let him?"

Colby looked down at his feet. "He told us that Mansour would lose us, that he would get away with Charlie if he knew we were after him. They were way ahead of us by that time, and we were afraid he was right."

David added quietly, "He pulled rank. He gave us an order. None of us have the tracking and shadowing skills that Edgerton has. We needed Edgerton at that point, or we might have lost them entirely. He didn't give us a choice. If we had done anything different, I have no doubt that he would have tried to stop us, and Mansour would definitely have gotten away then."

Colby looked at Don miserably. "If we had known what would happen, we wouldn't have listened to him. He's Edgerton, you know; we thought he knew what he was doing. We messed up."

Don fought down a tide of black fury. He realized why his agents had done what they did, but Edgerton…. He knew the man didn't have a penchant for following protocol, but he had gone way beyond the limits of what was right, and he hadn't done it with just anyone. He had done it with Charlie.

Don took a deep breath, fighting for composure, and looked at his agents. "You didn't mess up, okay? You did just what you were trained to do – you followed your lead agent's orders. And you got Charlie out of there and back here in time…" He trailed off, as the words triggered sudden fear. He didn't know that yet. What if they weren't in time? He had no way of knowing how Charlie was doing. '_Okay,' _he thought desperately. '_He's doing okay. They're working on him. He's going to be fine.'_

He wrenched his attention back to his agents. "What happened next?"

Colby swallowed hard. He launched into a description of how they had followed Edgerton and Mansour; how they had met up with Edgerton and found that he had lost them. He continued with the explanation of how they had found the entrance to the canyon, and what had happened when they got there. Don's face registered a complete spectrum of emotions during the report, from rage to disbelief, and he peppered them with questions. When they reached the account of how they had found Charlie, bleeding, beaten and mutilated, and of Mansour's final moments of rage, he fell silent.

Colby finished talking, and they sat silently, looking at Don. He was pale, staring at his hands without seeing them, horror in his eyes. He finally looked up at them, struggling to control the emotion on his face, and spoke, his voice strained. "I need a minute."

They glanced at each other. "Are you okay?" asked David.

Don's eyes closed. "I just need a minute. Get out. Now."

They rose uncertainly, and shuffled to the door. Colby, concerned, paused outside for a long moment, listening. He heard nothing at all, only silence.

'_This is so screwed up,_' he thoughtHeart heavy, he looked up at David's retreating back and slowly followed him down the hall.

---------------------------End Chapter 20------------------------------------------------------------


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

It was after 9:00 before the doctor made his appearance. When Megan and Alan had come back up with sandwiches, Colby and David followed them from the waiting area into Don's room. Their boss was uncharacteristically silent and subdued; he refused his food, which had been delivered on a tray, and the silence was awkward. After a half-hearted attempt to eat, the three agents beat a hasty retreat to the waiting area on the floor, leaving the Eppes men to themselves. Part of the hallway ran past the waiting area, and they could see the door to the room, and when they saw the doctor, they rose as a group to their feet and headed to the door.

The doctor gave them a glance as they crowded into the doorway, but Alan told him, "It's okay, they can hear this."

He was pale, and his voice shook a little as he spoke, and Megan wondered if Don had told him what happened, and how much. She looked at Don, and was taken aback. His face was drawn and tense, with dark circles under his eyes from fatigue, and he was gripping the side of his mattress unconsciously.

The doctor looked exhausted himself, and he spoke wearily and a bit pompously. "Dr. Eppes is a very lucky man."

Colby almost snorted at this, but he caught himself with an effort.

The doctor continued. "He sustained multiple contusions and lacerations. He has a broken rib and a bruised kidney. He has a mild concussion. His toe was nearly completely severed; we managed to re-attach it, but we will need to monitor it for blood flow and infection. There are also the slash marks on his chest, but the stab wounds to the leg and his lower abdomen were the most serious."

"Two of the wounds to his leg came within an inch of the femoral artery, and the wound in his abdomen came within a centimeter of the iliac artery. Had either of those been severed, knowing that he was over an hour away when it happened, we would not be standing here having this conversation." Megan wouldn't have thought it possible, but both Don and Alan turned even paler at that comment, and Alan rubbed his face with a shaking hand.

"In spite of his good fortune, he still lost a good deal of blood." Colby almost sneered at the man. _'Good fortune? Quit saying that, you asshole_.'

"The wound to his abdomen perforated his intestine. We have repaired that, but you should know that infection is a danger whenever there is a perforation of the bowel; we will be monitoring him for that. Because of the blood loss, he is receiving a transfusion, and we have also put him on broad spectrum antibiotics to head off any possible infection. He is stable, but we will put him in ICU for monitoring. His prognosis is good."

He paused and looked at Alan. "He's in recovery now, but they'll be bringing him out soon. You're welcome to go see him." He turned a sweeping glance on the rest of them, which ended on Don. "Family members only in ICU, and only those members that do not need to be in a hospital bed themselves. It's after visiting hours. I suggest you all go and get some rest."

Alan nodded and rose, clasping the doctor's hand to thank him. He was shell-shocked with concern, grief and fatigue, but the news that Charlie was stable had flooded him with relief. The release of the tension somehow made him even more tired, and he turned weary eyes on his son. The agents murmured good nights as they filed from the room, Megan stopping to give Alan a hug. "We'll see you in the morning," she said with a glance at Don.

Don nodded, silently. He looked at his father. "Better get over there."

Alan sighed. "Yeah. I may camp out in ICU tonight if that's okay with you. Anything you want me to tell Charlie?"

Don swallowed. '_What do you say?'_ he wondered. _'Glad you didn't bleed to death? Sorry you were attacked by a madman, get well soon.' _He looked at his father. "Just tell him I can't wait to see him."

Alan nodded, and placed his hand on Don's shoulder for a moment. They exchanged a look, wordless, a silent communication between father and son; then Alan turned and went out the door, flicking out the room light as he went. Don sat in the darkness, motionless and staring, his mind whirling with fatigue and emotion, trying to comprehend the unthinkable that had happened to his brother, and struggling to come to grips with the fact that he had not been there for him, when Charlie needed him most.

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ICU was on the same floor as Don's room, but in a different wing, and by the time Alan got there, Charlie was in the room. Visiting was allowed for 10 minutes every hour, on the hour, and even though that was thirty-five minutes away, they let Alan in the room. He was surprised and worried to see that his son was still unconscious, and on a respirator.

The nurse explained gently to him. "His oxygen levels are still a little low and he is having a stronger reaction to the general anesthesia than usual. We will want to see him fully awake and able to maintain good oxygen flow on his own before the tube comes out. When he wakes up, we will switch to vent assist only – the machine will kick in only if his oxygen levels get too low. If he does well on his own, we'll take it out."

Alan nodded. He felt a slight sensation of disappointment; he had had an overwhelming need to look into his son's eyes, to know he was all right. '_One step at a time,'_ he told himself. He moved closer to Charlie's side, and his breath left him as he got a closer look. The left side of his son's face was swollen and bruised, especially around the cheekbone and jaw area. The front of his gown drooped a bit, and Alan could see fresh bandages on Charlie's chest. They had applied clean dressings to his left shoulder and wrist, and his right foot protruded from the blanket below, wrapped in an impossibly large mass of bandages, and propped up on several pillows. IV tubes snaked around a pole and into his arm, one clear, one red.

Alan surveyed the damage in agony, and thought back over what Don had told him had happened. He knew that his son had not given him the details of the story, trying to shield him, but even with what he knew, the thought of what Charlie must have gone through shocked and horrified him. Looking at his son, he could almost feel for himself the pain and the fear that Charlie must have felt, and moisture sprang to his eyes, and spilled over as grief overtook him. He touched his son's curls ever so softly, and murmured to him, as tears coursed down his cheeks, unchecked.

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Don woke with a start. Early morning grayness peeked in through the window. In spite of himself, he must have fallen asleep. He saw an orderly pull cords off of the other bed in the room, and Don frowned in confusion as the man began to wheel it out. He pulled himself up in his bed ad he heard his father's voice out in the hall. The orderly and the bed disappeared, and another bed was eased into the room, and Don's heart pounded as he saw his brother's unmistakable dark curls. He let out the pent-up breath that he didn't realize he was holding, as another orderly pushed the bed in, followed by his father.

Alan's eyes caught his, and he smiled. His father looked exhausted, thought Don, but the smile was a good sign. "Morning, Donnie."

"Morning." Don looked over at his brother anxiously. Charlie's face was turned slightly away, and his eyes were closed. From that angle, Don couldn't see the bruises that he knew were there. "How's he doing?"

Alan took a breath. "Good, I think. He's sleeping. The pain medication knocks him out." He rubbed his face and frowned, as he sat, wearily.

"What?" asked Don, anxiously.

Alan glanced at him, grimacing. "Oh, it's just that pompous ass of a doctor. I think Charlie should have stayed in ICU, but there was a big accident, and they got overrun. The doctor told them to put Charlie in a regular room, said he wasn't _sick_ enough."

Don's face went cold. "Let me talk to him, he'll know what sick is."

Alan sighed. "No, don't bother, it won't do any good; anyway they said they would monitor him from here."

The buxom nurse bustled in. "_Good_ morning," she chirped. She moved swiftly around Charlie's bed, adjusting the bed itself, IV's, and the pillows under Charlie's foot. "Need to keep that elevated," she told them briskly. She crossed over to Don, checking his water pitcher. "I'm going to bring your breakfast. If you want to get released today, I'd advise you eat some of it. You need to show you can keep solid food down before the doctor will let you go." She glanced at Alan, then at Charlie. "He's due for another dose of pain medicine. As soon as he wakes up, call the nurses station. I'll be right down." She tossed Alan a dazzling smile and a wink, and sashayed out of the room.

Alan scratched the back of his head and looked at his feet, avoiding Don's grin. "I'm tellin' you, Dad, she wants you."

Alan shook his head ruefully and started to reply, when a low moan from Charlie made him whip his head in that direction. He was up like a shot, and over to the bedside. Charlie turned his face toward them, his eyes opened slightly, and Don could see that the entire left side of his face was purple.

Charlie made a strangled noise in the back of his throat that made Don's heart catch, and he convulsed, gagging. "Ahh," he moaned, twisting in pain, and gagged again. Alan hovered, frantic. It couldn't be good for him to be retching with that incision, he thought, panicked. He reached for the call button, hitting it at the same time as Don hit his. Charlie was weakly trying to turn his head and his upper body, and he gagged again, more violently, gasping in pain, clutching at his stomach, his face twisted in agony.

The nurse hurried in, took one look, and hurried back out, returning a few seconds later with an intern. Don's eyes were riveted on Charlie, and he slid out of bed without even realizing he was doing it. "What's going on?" demanded Alan, fearfully.

Charlie was still retching, and the intern grabbed a pillow, and pushed it into his hands. "Push this against your incision," he told Charlie, whose hands crept around the pillow, shaking. His eyes were closed and he was still gasping in pain. He heaved again, and uttered a cry that tore Don's heart.

The doctor had appeared, and Don's anxiety was increasing. This could not be good. He and the intern checked the chart, looking at the temperature readings, and then the doctor gently turned Charlie on his back. "Tell me if this hurts," he said, probing Charlie's abdomen with his fingers. Charlie's eyes were closed in pain, but he alternately shook his head or nodded, his breath catching, as the doctor moved his hands over his torso. He convulsed once more, retching, and the doctor helped turn him sideways again, and spoke to the intern quietly.

He stepped aside toward Don, and Alan realized suddenly that his older son was out of bed, balancing primarily on one leg without his crutches, but he was too worried about Charlie to call him on it. Alan moved in toward them as the doctor looked at him. "Sometimes after intestinal surgery, the patient has a hard time processing anything through his system."

"But he hasn't had anything," Alan protested. "They wouldn't even give him ice chips."

"Your system produces gastric juices constantly," the doctor continued, looking a little annoyed at the interruption. "In bowel surgery cases, they can irritate the intestine and cause nausea. Sometimes the patient can tolerate them, and sometimes they can't. We're going to pump his stomach to suction out the fluids. The other alternative is that this is the beginnings of peritonitis, but I don't think so."

He pursed his lips, frowning at Charlie, and looked back at Alan. "This is a relatively minor setback, but it does indicate that he may need a longer healing period than most."

"He doesn't have the strongest stomach in the world," Alan admitted.

The doctor nodded. "Every patient is different. What I am concerned about is that he is already underweight, and a longer healing period means that much longer before we can get him eating again. He won't like the stomach pump, but it is necessary. We can't have him stressing the surgery site."

The intern returned with another nurse, and the pump was brought into the room. The space in the room was decreasing, and Alan backed into a corner, his anxious eyes on Charlie.

The pump was followed by yet another person with a portable X-ray machine, and the doctor stepped into the bathroom. Don backed up against his bed. He could hear water running, and he stared at Charlie helplessly. His brother was collapsed on his side with his eyes closed, panting, his injured leg twisted slightly on the pillows. The doctor came back in the room, snapping on gloves, and stepped over to Charlie's bed, picking up a clear tube. Charlie heaved again, and the doctor spoke loudly over the noise. "Dr. Eppes, I need you to lay back and tilt your head back."

Charlie, gasping, made a weak attempt to lie back, and the intern helped position him. Don saw his brother's eyes flicker open as the doctor leaned over him with the tube, and he pressed back against the pillow involuntarily. "Head up," admonished the doctor, and he began to insert the tube into Charlie's throat. Charlie coughed and gagged, writhing, and the doctor spoke sharply as he continued to feed in the tube. "Hold still and swallow. Swallow…," The tube in place, the doctor stepped back. Using the portable X-ray machine, they checked the position of the tube, and then turned Charlie on his left side.

The procedure took only a few minutes, but the look of complete misery on Charlie's face made it seem an eternity. Alan was aghast when he saw the contents of Charlie's stomach empty into the bucket. "Why is it black?"

"We give them charcoal to help soak up the acid. Then we flush with water." Finally the process was over, and the doctor removed the tube. They helped reposition Charlie on his back, and he coughed weakly and gasped, his eyes clenched shut in pain.

The doctor left the room, and the equipment was wheeled out. The nurse entered and made her way to Charlie's IV. "Pain medication," she said, "and compazine, which will help with the nausea." Charlie lay on his back, trembling with pain and exhaustion, trying to stifle a weak gag. Don limped forward gingerly to his bedside, trying to keep the weight off of his cast, as Alan moved from his corner. Don could see Charlie start to relax as the medication hit his system, and he leaned forward, trying to catch his brother's eyes. "Hey bro," he said softly, and laid his hand on Charlie's. He was completely unprepared for his brother's reaction.

Charlie jerked his head toward him, and as his eyes focused, they filled with accusation and distress. He turned his head away, pulling his hand from under Don's at the same time, and closed his eyes. Don stood staring, hurt and mystified by his brother's actions, and glanced sideways at his father, but he realized that Alan hadn't seen it; Don was blocking his view. He swallowed. '_He's in pain; and out of it from the meds,'_ he told himself. _'He just had someone stick a tube down his throat. It's a normal reaction when you think about it."_

He backed up slowly to his bed, and eased back into it, staring, disquieted, at the back of his brother's head.

--------------------------End Chapter 21-------------------------------------------------------


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Megan, Colby and David showed up midmorning, just as the nurse was removing Don's breakfast tray. "Good boy!" enthused the nurse, and Don scowled at her. Megan exchanged a glance with Colby and David, and none of them could suppress a smile.

David looked across the room at Charlie's sleeping form. "How's he doing?"

"Okay," sighed Don. "He was pretty sick this morning – something about gastric juices upsetting his system. They had to pump his stomach. He's been out since they gave him the pain medication."

"He say anything?" asked Colby.

"Nah, he's either been asleep or too sick to talk."

"Where's Alan?" asked Megan, glancing around.

"I think he went out in the waiting area for a while."

Megan stepped back and peered out of the door. She could see Alan, collapsed in an armchair, fast asleep. She stepped back in and looked at Don's face, pinched with fatigue. '_This has been hell on all of them,'_ she thought. "It looks like he's sleeping."

"Good," said Don, "he needs it." He looked up at them. "Any news?"

"They're still processing the site," said Colby. "They're trying to come up with DNA from the other vics, but I think this one's a no-brainer. Mansour had a small campsite set up back in the trees; he'd apparently been living in that canyon since he left home. They found a bunch of tools, wire cutters, knives, a saw-," he stopped when he saw Don's face pale, and he self-consciously shot a glance at Charlie. "Anyway, like I said; a no-brainer."

Megan eyed Don. "Are they going to release you today?"

"So they say." He tried to look noncommittal, but she saw the line of his jaw harden. "Where's Edgerton?"

She felt a frisson of apprehension, but kept her face carefully neutral, watching him. "He's been directing the team at the site. He's been pretty much living there." Don nodded, his own face expressionless, but she saw something dark flicker in his eyes, before they wandered, and rested on Charlie. The rest of them followed his gaze for a moment, looking at Charlie in silence.

Colby broke it, a little too loudly. "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm going to find some breakfast."

"You had breakfast," said David.

"Coffee then," said Colby as he headed for the door. David shot an apologetic smile toward Don and shook his head, and then fell in behind Colby.

Megan turned to go after them. "We'll be in the waiting area. Let us know if he wakes up." Don nodded absently, his eyes still on Charlie, his expression dark. Megan eyed him for a moment, and left the room, frowning.

It was getting close to noon, and they were still waiting. Colby and David were lounging in the waiting room chairs, as Megan came out of the room and plunked down on a sofa. "Still out. He's due for another dose of pain medication soon though, so he should be waking up."

"I know Don doesn't blame us for this," Colby said, "but I still feel like shit."

"Yeah, man, I know what you mean." David shook his head.

"I know, I couldn't sleep last night," groaned Megan. She rested her head in her hands. "That ambulance ride – God, his face -," She sighed and straightened, wearily.

David nodded grimly. "I keep thinking back over it. We had to make a decision in a split second, and I know everything they always told us at Quantico was that we need to follow orders, not our guts, in a situation like that, but if there was ever a time to follow your gut, that was it. I just wish I'd followed mine."

"The only thing I can keep telling myself was that it was good we were there," said Colby. "As bad as Charlie was hurt, Edgerton would have had a hard time getting him out of there by himself. At least we helped there." Silence descended, and they sat, despondent, staring at nothing.

"Uh oh," said Megan quietly, suddenly sitting up straight. Colby's and David's heads whipped around and they followed her gaze. They all tensed and rose slowly to their feet as they saw Edgerton approach the doorway to the room.

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Alan had woken from an hour-and-a-half nap, and was sitting next to Charlie. The nap had not nearly been enough, but it helped; he was still tired but his thoughts were a little clearer. Charlie had been knocked completely out by the pain killer/compazine combination, and was still sleeping, but Don had risen and gotten dressed, and was rummaging through the bag for deodorant and a razor, his weight on his good leg.

"Aren't you getting a little ahead of yourself?" asked Alan. "They haven't released you yet. And you should be using your crutches." He caught a movement at the door and he looked up, his face darkening as Edgerton stepped quietly into the room.

Don had looked over his shoulder to answer him, and caught his expression. He followed his father's eyes to the doorway, spying Edgerton, and his face twisted in rage. "What in the hell are you doing here?"

Edgerton ignored the question, and spoke quietly. "How is he?"

Don snapped. He lunged across the room at Edgerton, grabbing the front of his jacket and forcing him backwards. The agents in the waiting room were heading forward as they saw the two of them stumble out into the hallway, and saw Don slam Edgerton into the opposing wall, his face contorted in fury. Don's fists were balled, twisting the front of Edgerton's shirt, and he thumped Edgerton into the wall again, straining against him. "How do you think he is, you son of a bitch!" he yelled. "You tell me!"

Edgerton's hands were up in an unconscious gesture of self-protection, but he didn't resist. That was a mistake, he realized a second later, as Don's fist exploded into his stomach. Colby and David had reached them, and were trying to pull Don away, as he tried to shrug them off, furious, his eyes still locked on Edgerton. A crowd of hospital staff was gathering in the hall, and a nurse picked up the phone.

Edgerton caught his breath, gasping. "You have to believe me, I didn't intend for that to happen. It was just supposed to be reconnaissance, out and back -," His words were cut off as he tried to turn away from the fist that suddenly connected with his face. Blood ran from his nose and he lifted one hand to it, trying to ward Don off with the other.

"You're lying! You set him up and you know it!" Don raged between clenched teeth. He pulled away from Colby and David, furiously trying to get his hands on Edgerton's throat. "You asshole! I'm gonna-,"

"Don! Back off man!" gasped David, as he and Colby wrestled with Don's arms, which seem to have acquired superhuman strength.

They managed to pull him away a few inches, and Megan stepped between them, her eyes locked on Don. "Don, knock it off," she commanded loudly. "You need to get a grip." '_Thank God he didn't have his service weapon,' _she thought. She turned to Edgerton, eyeing him coldly. "I don't think it's such a good idea for you to be here."

Edgerton paused for a moment, chagrin and defeat on his face, and then wiping the blood from his nose and shrugging his jacket into place; he turned down the hallway. Don wrestled his arms impatiently away from Colby and David, and stepped heavily on his good leg, trying to get his balance, as a wave of dizziness hit him. "This isn't done, Ian!" he called after Edgerton angrily, as two security guards ran up. Don glowered at them, at the onlookers in the hallway, and at his agents, and hobbled angrily back into the room, ignoring the shocked look on his father's face.

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Charlie had slept through the commotion, and didn't stir until nearly a half hour later. He drifted in and out for a few minutes, his eyes opening as he heard voices. He stared, trying to focus, and the faces of Don's team came into view. They were smiling at him with encouragement, and his stomach twisted. How could they act like nothing had happened? '_Oh, it's just Charlie,'_ he thought, bitterly putting words in their mouths. '_He's clueless. He probably doesn't even realize what happened.'_ He turned his head away and gazed listlessly toward the window, catching Megan's faltering smile as he turned. Maybe if he ignored them, they would leave, and take the pain that their presence brought with them. Don could go too. Especially Don.

Alan looked at them with apology. "He isn't really himself."

Megan smiled at him consolingly. "That's certainly understandable. We'll come back later tonight. See you later, Charlie," she called to him. He continued staring out of the window, trying to fight the despair that rose inside of him.

Hours later, it was apparent he was losing that fight. They had given him a new pain killer, something not quite as strong, and he was longing for the first medication that they had given him. The new stuff barely kept the physical pain at bay, and worse yet, it didn't put him under. His thoughts were muddled by the medication, and in spite of the grogginess it caused, he felt anxious and confined, almost claustrophobic. His physical symptoms were nothing, however, compared to the emotional pain, the dark despair he felt in his heart. He prayed for sleep, and relief, but it would not come, so he lay there in a private hell, fighting pain, fighting tears.

He had been forced to endure Don's attempts at conversation the whole afternoon. There was no apology, no recognition of his role in what he had put Charlie through, and the longer it went on, the more sickeningly certain Charlie was that this had always been the norm for his brother.

Don obviously didn't have as much invested in the relationship as he did, Charlie thought sadly. To Don, it was a business relationship, and always had been. '_Let's get Charlie to do my homework. Let's get Charlie to solve this case. Let's get Charlie to go for a nice hike with a serial killer._ _Ian, set it up for me.'_ The more he thought about it, the more he was stricken by the sense of loss – the loss of the brother he thought he had, and of the friends that he thought he had made on Don's team. His mother was gone, Larry was gone - his world had collapsed to two people – his father and, well, maybe, Amita. Even that wasn't a given.

Don's mood had spiraled steadily downward during the afternoon, not that it had been great to start with. The only good news was that the compazine seemed to help his brother; he had not been sick all afternoon, and had even spent most of it awake. The fact that his brother was awake was small consolation, however; Charlie was listless and uncommunicative, especially with him. He ignored Don's attempts at conversation, and avoided eye contact. The little eye contact he did make chilled Don; his brother looked so sad, so hopeless.

Don knew it had had to be a shock for Charlie to realize that someone he trusted had taken advantage of him, but Don didn't realize how hard it would hit him emotionally. Don would have expected anger, but not this - this grief. '_He must have really looked up to Ian_,' he thought, and the realization made him even angrier at Edgerton, and more than a little jealous.

It was near 5:00 now, and Don was sitting in his bed, scowling, when the intern came in with his release papers. His agents had returned a half hour ago, and had gotten no better response from Charlie than Don had, and were now out in the waiting room. The only one, in fact, that Charlie seemed to respond to at all was their father, and even that was limited.

Charlie was lying still with his eyes closed, but the expression of pain on his face gave away the fact that he was awake. He looked like he was near tears, and Don exchanged a glance with his father, who shook his head sadly. Don signed the papers with an irritated flourish, and accepted his discharge instructions impatiently. His gut roiled with emotion; fury with Ian, frustration at his inability to get through to his brother; fear for his condition, and sadness at Charlie's obvious despair. He slid angrily off the bed, shoving his copies of the papers into his bag.

He ignored the tentative knock at the door, until he heard his father say, "Amita!" in surprise, with relief and welcome in his voice. Don looked up quickly as she stepped tentatively into the room, and he threw a concerned glance at his brother.

Charlie had nearly reached a breaking point, overcome with despair, when he heard his father. His eyes flew open, and his heart fluttered with sudden hope as he saw her. She was a life raft, he felt, and he felt his spirits stir as he looked at her. Maybe there _was_ someone left in his life, maybe… He caught a glimpse of someone over her shoulder, standing back at the doorway, and was jolted back to reality. She had brought _him_ with her. This was nothing more than a polite visit to a friend. His heart fell with a sickening drop, and hit with an impact that jarred his very soul. Despair, even deeper, returned with a horrible thrust, like a knife in his gut.

He looked at her wordlessly, and she looked back at him with horror, mixed with pity and concern, as she saw his condition. "Charlie-," she began, but stopped when he closed his eyes and shook his head. His face contorted with emotion, and he turned his head away.

Don had seen Amita's boyfriend at the doorway, and when he turned, he caught Charlie's hopeful expression; then saw it fade as Charlie saw him too. Don felt a stab of pain himself as he saw Charlie's face contort, and then anger; anger at her, anger at the fact that his brother had to endure yet more pain when he was at his lowest. Don set his jaw and spoke to her sharply. "I think you'd better go." Amita looked at him, and back at Charlie, shock and indecision on her face, and Don saw Alan do the same thing, with a bewildered glance at the man hovering at the doorway.

"I said go."

"Donnie," protested Alan, looking back and forth at them helplessly and then at Charlie. His heart sank as he realized his youngest son was crying quietly, his face to the wall, his shoulders shaking in silent grief.

Amita looked at them wordlessly, stricken, and turned and walked out of the room, Don following her out with an angry determined hobble. Her boyfriend took one look at Don's face, and wisely stepped down the hallway. Don caught Amita by the arm just outside at the doorway and spun her around, his face black with fury. "Just what were you trying to accomplish here?" he hissed.

She looked at him, her mouth working, tears starting in her eyes. "I'm sorry, I just -,"

"Just what?" Don said angrily. He pulled her to the doorway and jabbed his finger at Charlie, who was still sobbing silently, the shaking of his shoulders visible even from the door. "Is that what you came to see? Rub your boyfriend in his face and see what he does? Are you happy now?" She stared at Charlie, tears coursing down her cheeks, and Don felt tears in his own eyes. He released her arm, and rubbed his face with his hand. "Get out of here," he said; his voice rough with emotion. She fled down the hallway, and Don stepped wearily back into the room, wincing at the pain in his leg.

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The agents were sitting in the waiting area, eating takeout, when they saw Amita approach the room.

"Hey, look who's here," said David, around a mouthful of burger.

Megan beamed. "Yeah, I called her at lunchtime. I thought she would cheer Charlie up a little." Megan's face dropped in confusion as she saw a tall blonde man walk into view behind Amita, and her heart sank as she saw him place a kiss on Amita's cheek outside the door.

"Who in the hell is that?" said Colby, looking at Megan.

"I don't know," she said, looking positively green. "Oh, no. This is not good."

They paused, sandwiches in hand, forgotten, staring at the door. They could see the man standing outside of it; then after a moment he turned and took off down the hallway. Amita came out a minute later, followed by Don, who barged out with an impatient hobble and grabbed her arm. Megan winced.

Colby watched his boss tear angrily out of the room for the second time that day. "This reminds me of a documentary I saw once. There was this mother bear, who kept charging out of her cave to protect her cubs." The other two just looked at him, and he looked back defensively. "You had to be there."

Megan watched Don turn and limp wearily back into the room, and she sighed. "Nah," she said softly. "I get it."

---------------------------End Chapter 22-----------------------------------------------------


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter 23**

After being released, Don had spent one night in a local hotel, and admitted the futility of it. Because of the head injury, he wasn't allowed to drive; he had to rely on someone to get him back and forth. Most of all, Charlie somehow seemed worse when he was there; he went from meager communication to none at all, and stared out of the window or pretended to sleep whenever Don was in the room.

Don was sick with hurt and confusion. He had decided that Charlie blamed him for bringing him into the case to begin with, and for him being stuck in a hospital bed when Charlie needed him, and he didn't know how to fix that, especially when his brother wouldn't talk to him. He finally had to admit he wasn't helping Charlie at all by being there; in fact he seemed to be making things worse. When his team headed back for L.A. the following day and Megan offered to drive him back in his SUV, he let his father talk him into going home and getting some rest.

Before he left, he stopped at the room. As he stepped through the doorway he saw Charlie glance at him, and then immediately close his eyes. His father looked up from the magazine in his lap. Don crutched forward, awkwardly, to stand beside Charlie's bed. He glanced at Alan, uncertainly. "I'm heading out."

Alan nodded. "How are you set up for food?"

"Megan's going to stop and help me stock up."

Alan stood and hugged him. "If you need me, call. I can leave for a while if I have to."

"I'll be okay."

Alan stepped back, and Don stared down at his brother's inert form. Charlie's eyes were still closed, and pain and fatigue lined his face. His skin, where it wasn't bruised, looked so pale it was almost translucent, and Don had the odd impression that the brother he knew had gone somewhere else, and this battered fragile body was merely the shell that was left. "Hey, Charlie."

Charlie's eyelids quivered. He tried to will them shut, but they opened in spite of himself. The sight of Don's face brought a stab of pain, and he swallowed the lump that rose in his throat.

Don looked at the anguished brown eyes, sadly. "Get better. I'll see you at home, okay?"

Charlie couldn't trust himself to talk. He closed his eyes again, tightly, and the reaction brought a look of sheer pain to Don's face. Alan felt his heart constrict in sorrow.

Don sighed. "Bye Chuck." He turned away, a defeated slump in his shoulders, and Alan followed him to the doorway.

Charlie's eyes opened, and fixed on his brother's back as Don crutched out of the room. The symbolism couldn't escape him; the brother he knew was gone. "Bye," he whispered, and turned his head to hide the tears that spilled from his eyes.

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Charlie was in the hospital for a week. It took two days before he could tolerate water, and another two days of clear liquids before he could handle soft food. He was beyond thin, he was emaciated, and Alan winced every time he looked at him. More disturbing to Alan was Charlie's mental state. He was clearly depressed; he spent most of his waking time staring blankly at the wall, his responses to conversation and questions were monosyllabic, and at times, when Alan glanced over at him, he would have silent tears streaking down his face, his head turned away. By the third day, exhausted and heart-worn, Alan was crying along with him.

Because of the lack of nutrition, and his emotional state, Charlie's recovery was slow, but it was steady. His toe was looking good, the doctor told Alan; blood flow was re-established. He might not regain full feeling in it, but because it was a small toe, that was not much of an issue. He was extremely weak, and that was an issue, because he needed crutches for at least a few more days, to keep his weight off his injured leg and foot. Three days before he was released, they had him starting to navigate with the crutches, and by the time the day came, he could still only manage a few feet before he was exhausted. Alan sighed, and wondered how he was going to get Charlie all the way to the front door.

The morning of his discharge, Charlie signed the papers with a sense of deja-vu, thinking of his release the previous week. This time there was no Edgerton waiting; he really was going home. He couldn't help but think what would have happened if he had told Edgerton no. Don would have been disappointed in him, sure, but Charlie would still be blissfully unaware that his brother didn't really care about him. He would have gone on thinking that he had a brother that cared, that Don's teammates were his friends. What was worse, he wondered, being a clueless but happy pushover, or knowing the truth? He thought he knew the answer to that, but it was too late to change it now.

He hadn't talked to his father about any of it, although it wasn't for lack of trying on Alan's part. Charlie knew that he must be disappointed about Amita, and he couldn't bear telling him that his relationship with his brother had also disintegrated. His father had been so happy that they were finally spending time together after so many years apart; that Charlie resolved to keep up appearances for his sake. There was an unsettling feeling in the back of Charlie's mind that his father was the only person left in the world that still cared about him, and he dreaded disappointing him any further. Somehow, Charlie resolved, he would swallow the pain, and move on. Somehow.

He crutched his way into the bathroom to change, panting with the effort, and taking off the hospital gown, he stared at himself in the mirror. The bruises on his face were fading to an odd mix of purple, yellow and green. His torso looked like a road map, covered with healing lacerations and stitches, punctuated by protruding ribs and bruises. A wreck of a body. A wreck of a life. He resignedly slipped a shirt over his head, and awkwardly managed his sweatpants by using the toilet as a chair, then made his way out of the bathroom.

"Ready?" asked Alan. The attendant was standing by with a wheelchair. Charlie nodded, and sank exhausted into the seat.

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The sight of home brought an unexpectedly intense wave of relief, which died when they pulled in the driveway. There was another wheelchair waiting in the drive, and behind it stood his brother. Charlie eyed it and Don stubbornly, and set his jaw. "I don't need that. I can use the crutches."

Alan looked at him with exasperation. "Don't be ridiculous, Charlie, you could barely make it to the bathroom this morning."

Charlie watched Don wheeling the chair forward, hobbling on his cast; then he reached around in the back seat. He grabbed his crutches and opened the car door, blocking Don from coming any closer, and stepped shakily from the seat, dragging his crutches behind him, over the seat, and through the door.

Don, apprehension in his gut, plastered a smile of welcome on his face, thinking Charlie was using the crutches to help himself into the chair. He gulped, trying to hold the smile, as Charlie stood, and he could see how unbearably thin he was. "Hey Chuck, welcome back."

"Thanks," muttered Charlie. '_Might as well be civil,' _he thought grimly._ ' Two could play at this charade. Be civil, but keep him at an arm's length. Act normally, but don't volunteer conversation. Show him you don't need him. Maybe he'll go away.'_ He put his head down and ignored Don and the wheelchair, crutching around him shakily.

Don stared at him, and then looked at his father, who shook his head helplessly. Don turned and looked behind him to see that Charlie had stopped, chest heaving. He had gone just a few feet, and had several yards to go before he even reached the door. Don turned the chair around and hobbled after him. "Charlie, you don't need to prove anything. Just sit in the chair, okay?"

Charlie paused, catching his breath, and started forward again, his thin shoulders hunched over the crutches, his arms shaking with the effort. He could hear Don behind him, slowly wheeling the chair. Had it been a happier time, he might have smiled at the ludicrous picture they made, him on crutches, his brother hobbling behind him in a cast, with the wheelchair between them. He wasn't happy, though; at the moment he was desperate. His breath was coming in painful gasps now, and his vision wavered, and he staggered. Don was suddenly beside him, and Charlie pushed forward in renewed effort, almost in a panic.

The house in front of him spun and dipped; he reeled, and felt strong arms around him. The feeling of physical support from his brother's arms brought home with a blow the fact that the emotional support was not there – emphasizing the sham that their relationship had become, and Charlie felt a renewed stab of despair. Defeated, he let his brother guide him into the chair, and sat slumped, with his head down and his crutches in his lap, breathing heavily, as Don pushed the chair up to the door, and Alan followed with their bags.

As they got to the door, Charlie's determination returned. He didn't want his brother's help; he could at least get inside on his own. He could see the sofa in his mind. He stood abruptly, too suddenly, and swayed, feeling the world receding in a dark whirl. Unknown to him, he suffered the final humiliation, as he was carried inside in his brother's strong arms, and laid gently on the sofa.

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Don sat in a conference room a few days later, leafing through reports. He had gone back to work on light duty, which for him meant paperwork, unending mountains of paperwork. Field reports, financial reports, human resource reports. He was itching to get rid of the cast; his leg didn't hurt anymore, and he was pretty mobile especially without the crutches, which he only used if he had to cover a good distance, like the walk from the parking lot to the building. They had told him six weeks in the cast at the hospital, and he was determined to try and talk his own doctor into less. Four more weeks of this paperwork would kill him, he was sure.

In spite of his distaste for the job, he was spending a lot of time there. He had been stuck in his apartment the previous week while Charlie was in the hospital; he was sick of it; it seemed lifeless and lonely, and it was uncomfortable at Charlie's. Don still stopped in there, drawn like a moth to the flame, but most of the time ended up talking to his dad. Charlie didn't seem to want to see him, these days. The door to the conference room opened suddenly and Megan entered with another stack of paperwork. Don groaned.

"You'll want to see these," she said, in response to his groan. "These are the reports from the Mansour case." She met his eyes levelly as he looked up, suddenly grim, and laid the reports next to him, sliding into a chair across the table. Don glanced at the stack of files. There was going to be a high level hearing over this in a few days, to discuss Edgerton's actions in the case. Edgerton was on administrative leave in the meantime; Don had not heard a word from him since they had come back to L.A., and he didn't want to. He felt fury rise in him again at the mere thought of the man, and he set his jaw, trying to hide his expression.

Megan studied him as he looked down, finishing the last page of the report in front of him. Don had been reserved and subdued since Los Padres, directing his team with quiet efficiency, plowing through paperwork. He was all there mentally, but seemed to be operating from distance. He hardly spoke at all about Charlie; they were all concerned about him and curious to know how he was doing, but Don offered little information. Maybe it was none of her business, but that was just too bad, she thought, she was going to ask anyway.

She took a deep breath. "So, how's Charlie doing?"

Don glanced up, and then back down at the report, taking his time with an answer. "He's graduated to a cane."

Megan nodded with an encouraging look. "That's good, what else?"

"He got his stitches out."

"Yeah?" Her slightly raised eyebrows asked for more information.

Don opened his mouth, about to toss out something else noncommittal; then closed it again with a sigh. "He's struggling."

Her eyebrows rose further. "How do you mean?"

He looked away and shrugged. "I don't know – he's living in that garage. He barely has the energy to stand, and he's at his chalkboards all day, or on his laptop. He's hardly eating, he looks like some starved refugee, and all he does is work on that Cognitive Emergence stuff. About the only time he leaves the garage is to get a shower – he's even sleeping out there, on that old lumpy sofa. Dad's beside himself."

Megan frowned. "Have you talked to him about therapy sessions?"

"Dad has. Charlie refuses to go – says the physical therapy sessions for his leg are bad enough."

"Maybe he'd listen to you." She frowned as a flicker of pain crossed Don's face.

"Yeah, well, he's not talking to me these days."

Her frown deepened. "Why not?"

He ran a weary hand over his face. "Damned if I know. I think he blames me for bringing him in on this case."

That didn't sound like the Charlie she knew. "That doesn't sound right. It was Edgerton's case anyway. He's the one that asked for him. Have you tried to talk to him about it?"

Don looked down at his paperwork. To be truthful, when he thought about it, he really hadn't, not seriously. It was too hard to face the expression of hurt in his brother's eyes, and the rejection that he knew would come. "No, it's just, I don't know. I can tell he doesn't want me there. He hardly says two words to me. How do you start a conversation with that?"

Megan looked at him steadily. "Any way you can." Don's head came up and they locked eyes for a moment, compassion in hers, and comprehension dawning in his. Megan stood. "Let me know if you need help with those reports."

------------------------End Chapter 23-------------------------------------------------------------


	24. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Alan chopped vegetables with a vengeance. He had thought that getting Charlie home would help him recover, not only physically, but emotionally, but if anything his son had seemed worse. Maybe it just appeared that way because the familiar surroundings of home emphasized how unfamiliar everything seemed. His older son seemed quiet, unsure, and uncomfortable every time he was here, and Charlie, well, Charlie was a shell of his former self. He had retreated to the garage, purportedly to work on his Cognitive Emergence theory.

At first, Alan was relieved that he was making the effort to work on anything, but as time went on, he realized that his son was using it as an escape. It had become an obsession, '_Just as bad as that P vs. NP stuff,'_ thought Alan in disgust. Charlie refused to come out for meals, picking at whatever Alan brought him in the way of food.

He was still weak and exhausted, and would stand at the boards for as long as he could, then retreat to the sofa. Even then he didn't always rest; he pecked away at his laptop, his face grim; the intensity in his eyes fraught with pain. More than once, Alan had come out to find Charlie passed out on the old sofa, overcome with exhaustion. Pushing himself like that could not be good. Alan vacillated between trying to give him his space and fussing over him like a mother hen; and neither appeared to be working.

Worst of all was the fact that his sons did not appear to be talking to each other. It was always Charlie that had seemed to hang on his brother's every word, every action, with hope in his eyes, anxious to please. In an incomprehensible reversal, it was now Don who was acting that way; and Charlie was ignoring him, closing himself off in chalk dust and equations. Every time he looked either one of his sons in the eye, Alan saw hurt and confusion. He didn't know whether to scream in frustration or cry, and there were times when he was alone that he did both. Tonight was going to be different, though.

That afternoon, he had decided that allowing Charlie to go on as he had been just wasn't the right course of action. He would _make_ him socialize; interact with people, regardless of whether or not Charlie wanted to. Alan had no idea whether this would help matters or not, but he had to do something. Anything was better than this. Galvanized by his resolution, he had called Don at the office, and invited him and his team over for dinner. It was a Friday night; everyone could use a little R&R. A good dinner could cure a lot of ills, he told himself.

He hadn't told Charlie yet – he wanted to wait until they were close to being on their way over, and the food was prepared – until it would be too late to call it off. He glanced at the clock. It was about that time. Charlie needed a shower before they showed up.

He heard a noise at the door and glanced up. Speak of the devil. Charlie limped in, leaning on his cane, and headed to the refrigerator for a bottle of water. It wasn't until he turned that he noticed the huge salad his father was preparing, and saw the big basket of rolls on the table. He frowned, and before he could speak, Alan jumped in. "I invited Don and his team over for dinner." Charlie stared back at him speechless, a thundercloud growing on his face.

Alan glanced at him, his eyebrows raised. Charlie was wearing rumpled clothes from yesterday, and was sporting a day's worth of stubble and about a quart of chalk dust. "You'd better get a shower."

"They are not."

"What?"

Charlie was defiant. "They are not coming over. This is my house."

Alan pursed his lips. "I'm sorry," he said insincerely. "I should have asked you first. It's a little too late now, though. The food is made, they're on their way." He raised his eyebrows at his son and turned back to the salad, nonchalantly. "It won't kill you. Go get cleaned up."

Charlie stared at him. His father had been walking on eggshells around him for the past two weeks, catering to him, and this sudden change of attitude was disconcerting. He really didn't have a good argument, he realized. Scowling, he plunked his water down on the table, and limped toward the stairs. He would make an appearance, eat, and head back out to the garage. They could socialize all they wanted.

He was still upstairs when they arrived. Alan made sure everyone had a drink, and they gathered in the living room, chatting. Colby was in the middle of a story when Charlie appeared on the stairs, leaning on his cane. Colby broke off and beamed as Charlie hit the last step. "Hey Charlie, lookin' good!" He came over and gave him a hearty pat on the back as the rest of them gathered around, and Charlie lurched forward a step at the blow.

He did look better, thought Megan, but she wasn't sure she would classify it as good. There was nothing to him; he was painfully thin and pale, and most disconcerting, he hadn't lost that dead look of despair that she had seen in his eyes after the attack. She tried to hide the concern she felt and gave him a quick hug, which he tolerated but didn't return. He murmured polite greetings, but the vibe she got was distance – Charlie was putting as much emotional distance as he could between them. He didn't even acknowledge Don, she realized, and she saw the twinge of hurt on Don's face as Charlie limped past him. She was beginning to understand why Don hadn't talked to him.

Dinner seemed lively and relatively normal on the surface. Colby was always happy when food was part of the setting; he and David seemed to take Charlie's silence in stride, and carried a lot of the conversation, with help from Megan and Alan. Don jumped in occasionally, but he was quiet too, casting sideways glances at Charlie that his brother didn't return.

For Charlie, the meal was pure torture. It reminded him of happier times, when he thought he had friends, when he thought he had a relationship with his brother. The meal was delicious, he was sure, but the food stuck in his throat, and more than once he reached for his water glass as he felt tears of hurt and anger threaten, trying to swallow them before they started. It took a supreme effort to keep his composure, and as the meal drew to a close, he escaped to the kitchen with his plate, and headed out to the garage. He stood in front of a chalkboard, still fighting tears, watching the numbers swim in front of him.

The dining room fell awkwardly silent for a moment as they heard the door, and realized that Charlie wasn't coming back to join them. Alan came in carrying desert, trying to paste a smile on his face, and they started talking again, a little too loudly. Don sat silently for a moment.

This was the same behavior that had hurt him for the past two weeks. If he had been there alone, without his team, he would have just taken it. Still overwhelmed with guilt over bringing Charlie into the case to begin with, he felt he deserved it. His team didn't, however, and the more he thought about it, the angrier he got. They had, in the end, saved his brother's life, and Charlie was just being downright rude. His jaw set, he got up from the table to bring his own plate to the kitchen. The group fell silent for the second time as they heard the door, and they simultaneously buried their forks in dessert.

Charlie heard the door open, and cast a fleeting glance toward it. Don. He stiffened, pushing the tears back impatiently. He would _not_ cry in front of him. What in the hell was he doing in here, anyway?

Don limped angrily out into the garage. His brother was standing in front of one of his infernal chalkboards, and Don stopped next to him. "What was that about?"

Charlie started as if he'd been slapped, but he didn't turn his head. He set his jaw resolutely. "What was what about?"

Don stared at him. The hurt and frustration that had simmered inside him for the last two weeks came bubbling up, translating themselves into fury. He controlled himself with an effort. "They came over here to see you. Oh, and there's the little fact that they rescued you. You can at least be civil."

Charlie's jaw worked. '_Rescued me? Yeah, after they got me into the situation to begin with. How naïve does Don think I am, anyway?_' He shook his head in disbelief, his dark eyes flashing with anger and hurt.

Don saw the headshake, and mistaking it for a refusal, snapped. He grabbed Charlie by the arms and swung him around. "Look at me when I talk to you." Charlie winced, and looked up with a strange combination of misery and defiance in his eyes, and Don loosened his grip, but didn't let go.

"You can blame me all you want for bringing you into the case, but they don't deserve that."

"Why not?" Charlie shot back, anger and disgust in his face. "They were in on it too."

Don scowled impatiently. "In on what?"

"In on the plan." Charlie retorted as if he thought Don was dense, angry tears again threatening. "The plan to-," A lump rose in his throat; he couldn't finish.

Don stared at Charlie in confusion and slowly released his arms. "Charlie, what are you talking about? They weren't in on any plan. When we found out that you had gone off with Edgerton, I sent them after you."

It was Charlie's turn to look confused. "Sent -," he started to repeat. "But you wanted me to go, why -,"

"Wanted you to go!" Don's heart took strange dip, as if he was riding on a rollercoaster. Comprehension dawned on his face, and with it, anger. He grabbed Charlie's arms again, his eyes searching his brother's. "Charlie, what did Ian tell you?"

Charlie swallowed hard, and tried to fight back the persistent moisture in his eyes. He couldn't breathe. Why was Don doing this? His emotions were clouding his thought processes, and he looked up at Don in confusion. "About what?"

"Charlie!" Don almost shook him in frustration. "What did Ian tell you to get you to go with him?"

Charlie stared. "He said that you and he talked about it, that you needed me to go retrace my steps." He hung his head. "I said no at first, but then he said-," Charlie paused, staring at his feet.

"Said what?"

"He insinuated that you'd be disappointed. So I said I'd go." Charlie's face twisted with bitterness. "He didn't tell me that your plan included giving me to Mansour."

Don's stomach lurched. Charlie had gone out there because of him. Ian had lied to his brother; and Charlie thought all along it had been Don – "Oh God," he breathed. He shifted his grip on Charlie's arms. "Charlie, look at me."

Charlie raised his head, his face miserable, and Don spoke earnestly. "Charlie, Ian never talked to me about any of that. He lied, Charlie." Charlie stared at him, not comprehending, and Don continued urgently. "Think about it. He waited until we were out of the room, and he got you out of there before we got back. You don't think there was a reason for that? God, Charlie, I would never have sent you into that situation – how could you even think it-," Don's voice broke.

Charlie just stared for a moment, his thoughts whirling; a desperate desire to trust warring with suspicion, but as he looked into his brother's eyes and saw the earnestness, the anxiety, the hopefulness, Charlie realized that he was seeing truth. A gamut of emotions ran through him – comprehension, pain, relief, hope – and his face suddenly crumpled, as all of the pent up terror and despair of the past few weeks released. He put a hand up to his forehead, desperately trying to hide the tears that finally burst forth, his shoulders shaking.

Don saw him start to collapse and drew him to his chest, holding him, as tears of his own sprang to his eyes. The enormity of what his brother had been through hit him full force, and his gut clenched with something nameless.

He felt Charlie sag, and he pulled himself together and guided his brother over to the sofa. They sat; Charlie bent over his knees, his hand still over his face, struggling to get control of himself, Don with his arm around him. Eventually Charlie gasped, straightened a bit, and wiped at the tears on his face, too choked up to see his brother do the same thing.

Don gave his shoulders a light squeeze, and said gently, in a voice husky with emotion, "I've got a deal for you. You tell me your side of this, and I'll tell you mine. I think it's about time we cleared all of this up."

Several moments later, Alan opened the garage door a crack and peeked in. He was rewarded with the sight of his sons talking earnestly, Don with his arm around Charlie. He closed the door gently, and headed back out to the dining room. His words were contrite, but he couldn't wipe the smile from his face. "I have to apologize for my sons; they seem to be having a discussion about something. I have a feeling that this may be a while."

Megan had been feeling uncomfortable and tense since Don had left the table. She was the one who had recommended that they talk, but when Don left with such an angry look on his face, she had a bad feeling that the conversation was not going to go well. She caught Alan's smile with relief, and relaxed. David had no idea what was going on, but he picked up immediately on the suddenly lighter atmosphere, and smiled. "That's okay Mr. Eppes; I need to get going anyway. Dinner was great."

Colby left with David, but Megan volunteered to help with the dishes. It took a while to clean up, and before she left, she decided she would peek in on the brothers and say good-bye. She stepped out to the garage and opened the door a bit, but Don and Charlie were so deep in conversation, she thought better of it. Alan had come up behind her and peered over her shoulder for a moment; then they quietly shut the door. Megan caught Alan's eye and smiled. "Now that's more like it."

He smiled back, his eyes crinkling at the corners warmly. "It certainly is."

Hours after Megan left, Alan put down his paper, and glanced at the clock. It was much later than he realized, and the boys still had not come out. He rose and headed for the garage, intending to shoo them to bed, but when he opened the door, he caught himself. Don was lying with his head back on the sofa, his arm still around Charlie, and Charlie was slumped next to him, leaning on his brother, both of them fast asleep. Alan stood for a moment, savoring the sight, his eyes misting with tears of relief.

He shut the door quietly and headed into the house and upstairs to bed, with a satisfied smile, congratulating himself. There was no underestimating the power of a good dinner.

--------------------------------End Chapter 24---------------------------------------------------


	25. Chapter 25

_C_**hapter 25**

Yep, there was no underestimating the power of a good breakfast, Alan thought cheerfully to himself, as he added cheese to the eggs in the pan. Well, brunch actually, it was late in the morning. His sons had made it up to their bedrooms at some point, and had both slept in. They were now sitting at the table, showered, and looking rested, and more importantly, normal. Their body language was relaxed, their eyes had lost the look of hurt and uncertainty, and Charlie actually had a quiet smile on his face. There was a lot to be said for normal.

He brought the eggs to the table and sat, dishing them up, trying to put a name on what he saw in their eyes. Strength, he decided; it was strength – strength that he suspected they drew from each other. Charlie even looked interested in the food, and Alan saw Don watching his brother with another expression that Alan couldn't quite name, but it was gentle.

"So," said Alan briskly, after they had gotten a good portion of their breakfast down. "What are you doing today, Charlie?"

Charlie looked up from his plate, considering for a moment. "I think I'll consolidate some of the work I've done, get it down on paper."

Alan pursed his lips, trying to hide twinge of annoyance. "You don't think you've spent enough time in that garage? Why don't you get out, get some air?"

Charlie gave him a small smile. "I will Dad, but I think I should get this stuff off the boards, before I lose it. I'll take a break from it as soon as I do that, I promise."

Don eyed him doubtfully. He couldn't imagine how his brother had managed to work on anything in the past few days, considering his physical and emotional state. "So you actually made some progress, huh? What were you working on?"

"Cognitive Emergence," said Charlie around a mouthful of toast. He swallowed, and spoke quietly. "I was mapping the brain's reaction to pain, comparing the responses to physical versus emotional pain."

They stared at him with their mouths open. He looked back, with an odd expression, almost apologetic but not quite, and opened his mouth to try to explain, then closed it. He wasn't going to apologize; life had presented him with first-hand experience, and it had given him some insight. He suspected that they thought he was using himself like some kind of specimen for a sick science experiment, but he knew that there was nothing further from the truth. The reality was that as always, no matter how personal the subject matter, his numbers had given him some relief, a life preserver to hang on to in his darkest moments. The fact that the personal experience provided inspiration was just a by-product of that.

The doorbell rang, and Alan rose, still trying to get his mind around his son's last statement. "I'll get it." Who would have thought that out of the three of them, he would be the most mobile?

Charlie poked at the last remnants of his eggs, and cast a sidelong glance at Don, who was watching him. "What?"

Don shook his head with a bemused look, and was opening his mouth to reply, when Alan called. "Charlie!"

Charlie limped out into the living room. His father moved away from the door with a strange expression, and Charlie saw the reason for it as Amita stepped in, uncertainly, and stood in the doorway. She smiled tentatively as she saw him, and he felt his stomach tighten. The eggs were suddenly not sitting so well. He felt Don step up behind him, as his gaze flickered over her shoulder.

Amita caught the look. "It's just me. I, uh, just wanted to see how you were doing."

Charlie took a deep breath, as Don stepped beside him, his face cold. Afraid that his brother was going to say something that he'd regret, Charlie spoke quickly and stepped forward toward her, leaning on his cane. "Fine. Better." He reached the doorway. "Let's go outside." They stepped out into the sunshine, and Alan and Don exchanged a wary look.

They walked over to stand by her car, and she stood awkwardly for a moment, looking at him. He did look better, but was still painfully thin, she thought, as he leaned on his cane. She really had no idea what had happened, other than the fact that he had been attacked by a suspect with a knife, and had been seriously injured. Megan had not given her a lot of details. Amita hadn't realized until she saw him in the hospital how hard he was taking her other relationship, or at least that's what she told herself. In the prior weeks, she had pushed aside his hurt looks, his avoidance of her, trying to ignore them, figuring they would pass. Well, it didn't matter now, she thought, she had some good news for him.

She leaned forward and hugged him, self consciously, but he didn't return it. She stepped back and glanced at him, a little taken aback. "So, you're feeling better."

Charlie endured the hug. It was funny, but the embrace didn't seem to have the impact that he thought it would. "Yeah," he said, as if just realizing it himself. "Quite a bit better. How have you been?"

Amita winced at the formal tone. "Actually, just okay. Bill and I broke up."

'_Bill. So that was his name.' _"I'm sorry."

She shrugged ruefully. "It's okay, we just weren't meant to be. I wanted you to know that he was a mistake." She paused and looked up into his face, meaningfully, and took his free hand. "I've been thinking about this a lot, and I believe that you and I are a different story." She tilted her face suggestively.

Charlie's breath caught at the sight of her beautiful eyes, so close; her lips, offering themselves for a kiss. A week or two ago, he would have killed to hear her say this. He gave her hand a small squeeze and pulled his away. "I don't think so," he said softly.

A look of hurt and confusion crossed her face. "What do you mean?"

He stared back, trying to come up with words. Amita had used him, he realized, just as Ian had; she had used him as a safety net; their relationship was good as long as it was convenient for her. If he had come out of the last week with anything, it was the conviction that he would no longer allow himself to be used. There was strength inside him that he hadn't possessed before, and he took a deep breath and faced her squarely.

"I think we need to take a step back," he said softly, but firmly. "I can't commit to something that I am not sure is there."

She looked at him in distress. "It _is_ there, Charlie – I made a mistake – I realize that now."

He shook his head sadly. "No, Amita, I don't think it was ever there for you, and I'm not sure it ever will be. The last time we talked, you mentioned being friends. I think it's best if we just leave it that way."

She stared back at him, stunned. His look was sad, but unwavering, and she realized with a pang that he would not be swayed.

Charlie leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek. The kiss had an air of finality to it; a dismissal. "Take care. I'll see you at school."

Tears were forming in her eyes, and she groped for the door, and somehow found her way into the seat. Charlie stepped to the side slightly, watching her as she backed down the driveway. As she reached the street and shifted gears, she looked back at him. Don and Alan had stepped into the doorway, and were standing watching her, just as Charlie was. They were too far away to have heard the conversation, but their presence said 'unconditional support' just as loudly as if they had screamed it. It was funny, she thought as she drove off, wiping the tears away, but she had never realized what a solid unit the three of them were, what a united front they presented.

Her heart gave a painful twist, as she realized that that was the kind of love and support that she could have expected from Charlie, and she had thrown it away.

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"He thought what?!"

Don looked back at his agents' faces; all three of them wearing an identical expression of disbelief. They had been called in on a drive-by and were sitting in the office, the afternoon sunlight streaming through the office windows.

"Yeah," said Don softly, muted pain in his face. "The way Ian presented it; Charlie thought that I set it up. When you guys showed up, he assumed you were in on it."

'_No wonder,'_ thought Megan, thinking of Charlie's reactions after the incident.

"Oh, man," breathed David, "That's-," He rubbed his face.

"Screwed up," finished Colby softly, finishing the sentence almost automatically. He felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. He shook his head sadly. "I can't believe he thought we would do that on purpose."

"Well," said Megan, "Think about it. He probably wasn't thinking very straight to begin with after everything that happened. When you look at it from his perspective, it probably did look planned." She sighed. "Poor Charlie – to go through all of that, thinking-,' She broke off as she saw a spasm of pain cross Don's face.

"He's okay now, though," said David anxiously. "He understands what happened?"

"Yeah, yeah, he gets it," said Don. "He understands – at least as it relates to us. He knows Edgerton was behind it all; that he was giving the orders in the field." He looked at them, holding their eyes steadily. "He's actually doing a lot better, now that he knows how it went down."

They sat silently for a moment; then Don stood and crossed the room. "We need to get going on the shooting. What do we have?"

The others swiveled to face Don, but Colby sat still for a minute, staring blankly at the pile of papers on his desk. _"I'm sorry, Whiz Kid,_' he thought sadly. He hoped to God that they would never find themselves in another situation like that. But if they ever did, orders and protocol be damned. He would defend Charlie, or any of his teammates for that matter, or die trying. He took a deep breath, filled with conviction, and straightened in his chair, turning his attention to the next case.

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It was late afternoon, and Charlie had almost finished recording his latest work. Don had headed back into the office, saying something about a shooting, and Alan had gone out to run errands that had been put off for the last couple of weeks. Charlie leaned on his cane, surveying the final chalkboard, his thoughts wandering back to his conversation with his brother.

They had talked for hours, about everything. Much of it was painful, but it was cathartic. Most of all they talked about the case; and nothing was spared. All of the details, all of the feelings; came tumbling out in a conversation like one they had never had before.

He was still reeling from it all, and from the huge waves of relief that kept surging back at odd times. He felt a little guilty now that he had even thought that his brother could have betrayed him. It was unlike himself to be so – cynical. All of the facts had pointed to that conclusion, though, he told himself. The biggest mistake he had made was not recognizing that Edgerton had lied to him. His mind flickered back to that moment in the hospital, to Edgerton's dark expressionless eyes. He could almost hear his voice.

"Charlie." Wow, that sounded real. His imagination was working overtime. "Charlie."

As his name was spoken a second time, Charlie whirled, forgetting about his leg, and winced, catching himself awkwardly. He stood staring at Edgerton, who had stepped quietly into the doorway. A few shafts of reflected light came through the windows, and tiny particles of chalk dust swirled through them, the only things moving in the room.

After a long moment, Edgerton spoke. "I tried to see you in the hospital. Your brother had a little problem with that. I wanted to talk to you."

Charlie began to recover from his surprise. How like Edgerton to wait until he was alone, he thought darkly. He replied; his voice laced with sarcasm. "Why? What's your motive this time?"

Edgerton winced. "No motive. I admit; I did lie to you to get you out there. I didn't think you would come otherwise. What I wanted to tell you was that I never intended to let Mansour touch you. I thought I could keep you safe."

Charlie looked at him, pain and anger apparent on his face. "How can you even say that? You used me. You handed me over to Mansour on purpose."

"No – not on purpose. I heard Don's team coming up behind us on the hill, and I thought it was Mansour. I dropped back to check it out. Mansour saw his opportunity and attacked."

Charlie looked back at him, distrust on his face, and Edgerton took a deep breath. "It was what I did next that was wrong. I let him have you – I thought I could follow you both to his canyon, and find the officer that was missing, and rescue you both at the same time. It was a stupid decision – I had to make it in a split second, and I didn't base it on logic, I let emotion make it for me."

Edgerton closed his eyes, and when he opened them, Charlie could see the pain in them. "It was wrong – I was wrong. I let a case get the better of me. I made poor decisions, and after I made them, I failed to execute. I let him get away, and you paid for it."

"I'm not here to make excuses," he continued quietly, wearily. "I am accepting my responsibility now, and I will on Tuesday at the hearing. I'm here to say that I'm sorry. I know an apology is probably meaningless, but I felt I owed you one. And I wanted you to understand that this will always be with me, for the rest of my life."

He looked at Charlie, his gaze level, his eyes sad, and then turned and stepped out of the room. Charlie stood motionless, mute, watching the dust swirl behind him.

-------------------------End Chapter 25-------------------------------------------------------


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Don had brought a pile of clothes over on Sunday, ostensibly to do laundry, but having clean clothes in the house gave him a good reason to stay. On Tuesday morning, he was up and dressed before dawn. The hearing was going to chew up a good part of the day, and he had some things to take care of concerning the new case before it started. At least that's what he told himself. The fact that he was up early had nothing to do with the fact that he had heard his brother cry out during the night, and his sleep had been fitful since he had gotten up to check on him. It also had nothing to do with the fact that he would be seeing Edgerton for the first time since the incident in the hospital. Nothing at all; he just had work to do.

He tried to be as quiet as he could in the bathroom, and when he emerged, the house was still dark and silent. He crept downstairs, congratulating himself, getting all the way to the sofa before he saw movement. His heart jumped; then he saw the silhouette of curls against the faint dawn dimness coming in through the window.

"Charlie?"

The head turned toward him. "Yeah."

Don crept toward the sofa, feeling for an empty spot, and sat next to his brother. "You scared the crap out of me."

A soft chuckle came from the silhouette. "Sorry."

Don regarded him for a moment. The light was slowly amplifying, and he was beginning to make out features. The eyes were an enigma, as yet. "How long have you been here?"

"I don't know, a couple hours maybe. Couldn't sleep."

Don was silent for a minute. "I heard you last night. Bad dream?"

"Yeah. I'm starting to get feeling back in my toe, and every once in a while I get a sharp pain. I guess it registered in my subconscious – I dreamed I was-," he paused, his voice a little unsteady, "– you know-," He took a deep breath. "Anyway, it woke me up, and I got to thinking about today." He glanced at Don; he could start to make out his brother's face, and he looked down at his hands. "Sorry if I woke you."

"Aw, Charlie, it's alright." Don looked at his brother searchingly. "You know it would be a good idea if you talked to someone about all of this. I thought I'd be the last one to admit it, but it does help."

A small grin played on Charlie's face. "Yeah, I know." He looked up, the smile tempered by a look of earnestness. "I talked to someone Friday night. He helped a lot." He held his brother's eyes, and Don smiled back softly.

He stood, squeezing Charlie's shoulder. "I have to get in there. I'll let you know how it goes."

He was halfway to the door when Charlie's voice stopped him.

"Donnie?"

Don turned. "Yeah, Charlie."

Charlie looked at him a moment, his mouth open to speak; a strange expression on his face. He closed his mouth, and the expression vanished. "Never mind."

Don stared at him a moment, but when nothing else came, he turned. "Okay, buddy. See you later." He let himself softly out into the growing dawn.

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The hearing was held at the L.A. office, partly due to the fact that many of the agents testifying were from there, and partly due to fact that L.A. was a convenient place for the director to fly in and out of. There was a large conference room with state-of-the-art equipment that was only used for high level meetings, particularly if they had to communicate with Washington, and it was selected for the hearing. The director attended, and so did Assistant Director Merrick, but it was presided over by the Bureau's version of internal control, which was headed by Special Agent Matthews.

They pulled agents in one at a time to testify. They were allowed to sit in on the proceedings, but only after their testimony. The practice was geared toward making sure that each deposition was not swayed by previous testimony, but the fact that all participants could listen afterward was for the express purpose of keeping the proceedings honest. No one was likely to lie with their colleagues in the room. Don had already been interviewed, and he sat with Agents Reeves and Sinclair, listening as Colby finished. Edgerton had been questioned first, and he sat on the other side of the room, face impassive, eyes expressionless.

Don had not heard his testimony, and wondered grimly how truthful Edgerton had been. He had felt a surge of unbridled anger at seeing him again, but as he sat through the hearing, his anger was reluctantly tempered by empathy. No agent ever wanted to be on the receiving end of one of these investigations, especially not an agent like Edgerton, who had made his work his life, and whose performance was legendary. In spite of himself, Don felt a grudging sympathy for him; any of them could make a mistake in judgment on any given day, and find themselves in the same position.

He steeled himself to the thought. There really were no excuses. The man had made that mistake with a defenseless consultant, who happened to be his brother. He set his jaw, his eyes cold, as Colby finished and stepped down. They had to be nearly done, Don thought.

Matthews consulted the paperwork in front of him, and spoke to the agent stationed at the door. "I now call Dr. Charles Eppes."

Don's mouth dropped open, and he felt the other agents' eyes on him. He recovered with an effort and shut his mouth, fixing Matthews with a sharp glare. He had purposely asked that Charlie be kept out of this, and Matthews had agreed to interview Charlie privately, outside of the hearing. Matthews caught his glance and addressed the room. "Let it be noted for the record that Dr. Eppes was a consultant on this case, and agreed to testify at this hearing of his own accord." Don frowned. Why would Charlie have declined the chance to interview privately?

Heads swiveled as Charlie stepped into the room. He was now walking without a cane, but still had a slight limp, that was becoming less noticeable with each passing day. He had been eating better the past few days, Don knew, but he was still pale and extremely thin. His jacket hung on him, and that and his youthful appearance gave the odd impression of a boy playing dress-up in his father's suit. He glanced at Don, his expression a bit tense, but his eyes steady, as he stepped up to the chair.

The testimony proceeded. Matthews had a few perfunctory questions concerning Charlie's earlier involvement in the case, but as he reached the portion concerning Charlie's trip alone with Edgerton, the questioning became more pointed.

Matthews reviewed his notes. "It's my understanding that the morning you were released from the hospital, Agent Edgerton approached you with a request that you accompany him back on the trail."

Charlie spoke calmly. "That's correct."

"There have been allegations that Agent Edgerton did not represent himself truthfully, and that he coerced you into going with him. Can you comment on that?"

Charlie eyed him coolly, and sidestepped the question. "Regardless of how Agent Edgerton represented it, I knew exactly what I was getting into." Don's jaw dropped, and he looked at Megan, who looked back at him with the same astonishment. Charlie continued. "I can see how others may have made that assumption, but the fact was; I understood the situation. By that time, I had already had two run-ins with Mansour. No one knew the risks better than I did."

The reality was, Charlie reflected, that he had known the risks, but he had still let himself be swayed. The fact that he allowed someone to influence his actions by using his desire to please his brother was partially his own fault.

Matthews looked at him thoughtfully. "And you feel comfortable that Agent Edgerton was looking out for your well-being."

Charlie directed his gaze at Ian, who returned it with a slight frown. "Absolutely comfortable."

Don had managed to get control over his facial expressions, but he was squirming uncomfortably in his seat. Granted, this was not a trial, so Charlie's statements were not perjury. If Charlie had some new understanding of what happened, what he was saying now was probably even truthful. He could not for the life of him understand why Charlie was doing this, however.

Matthews continued. "And yet you ended up being attacked again. Did you feel that you were intentionally put in that situation?"

"No. It is clear to me that happened as a result of Edgerton proactively investigating something suspicious. His attention was diverted when the attack occurred, but that was because he was doing exactly what he should have been doing, investigation. It was unfortunate, but not intentional."

'_Unfortunate?'_ thought Don. '_Jesus, Charlie, that's the understatement of the year.'_

Matthews eyed him. "And do you feel that Agent Edgerton took appropriate action after the attack?"

Charlie paused. This was the toughest question. For all of the others, he had managed to give a truthful response. If he hadn't thought those things at the time, he thought them now.

He answered Matthews, speaking slowly. "I think Agent Edgerton made the best decision he could at the time. There was little time to react and another life was in the balance. I can understand why he made the decision he did."

Matthews saw around his careful wording. "Would you have made that decision yourself, had you been in his position?"

Charlie paused, looking at Edgerton. "No," he said finally. "But I'm a math professor, not an FBI agent. I would probably make a lot of wrong decisions if I were faced with having to make split second calls in the field. Who am I to say what is or is not a wrong call?" He waited while Matthews consulted his notes again. He could feel everyone's eyes on him; the cool stare of the Director, the perturbed look from his brother, and Edgerton's expressionless gaze, and he felt a bit of sweat trickle down his neck.

Matthews finally looked up. "I take it from your responses that you are considering no legal action against the Bureau or against Agent Edgerton over this matter, and will not consider such action in the future. Would that be a correct statement?"

Charlie quirked an eyebrow at him. "I believe that my contract would prohibit me from doing so, regardless of whether I wanted to or not."

Matthews regarded him levelly. "Please answer the question."

"Your statement would be correct. I would not consider legal action."

"Very well, I have no further questions. Director, Assistant Director, you have an opportunity to comment or question." Much to Charlie's relief, both the Director and Merrick declined. Matthews announced, "I consider this hearing closed. Agent Edgerton, you will remain on administrative leave pending our decision."

Edgerton nodded, and the group rose, shuffling for the door. Charlie was one of the last out, and as he got through the door, he could see his brother and the other agents standing at the end of the hall. He sensed, rather than heard, the presence beside him, and he looked up to see Edgerton next to him. Ian waited until the hallway cleared a bit, looking at Charlie with a bemused expression. "Why did you do that?" he asked quietly.

Charlie looked at him thoughtfully, his brow puckered slightly. "I know you guys have to make decisions every day, tough ones. I get the luxury of having the time to analyze things before I make an evaluation. I realize that some of your decisions are judgment calls, and there is room for error." He shrugged, and his eyes held Ian's. "There's the fact that you saved my life on more than one occasion. But most of all, I guess I just hope that if Don ever finds himself in a position where he made a bad call, that someone would give him the benefit of the doubt."

Ian stared at him. He lived in a world with consequences, there were no breaks; he normally didn't give them, and he surely couldn't remember anyone giving him one before. To imagine that a person would not be vindictive after what Charlie had gone through was a completely foreign concept. Prior to this, if Ian had been asked to describe Charlie, 'strong' was not a word that would have come to mind. Today, though, that was exactly what he saw radiating from the brown eyes regarding him; quiet strength. He felt suddenly humbled by the slight man in front of him, and words failed him. "Thank you," he said simply, and Charlie nodded soberly, with a hint of compassion in his eyes.

Charlie turned and limped down the hallway, and joined his brother, who regarded him thoughtfully. "What are his chances?" asked Charlie.

"After what you just did, probably pretty good," said Don, his face an odd mixture of puzzlement and admiration. "The fact that they didn't make a decision on the spot in this case is probably a good sign." He looked at Charlie, perplexed, and then down the hallway at Edgerton. Don's own inclination was still to charge down the hall and punch the man's face in. "I can't say that I would have done that – why did you?"

Charlie looked up at his brother and smiled. "I had my reasons."

Edgerton stood staring, rooted to the spot after Charlie walked away. He saw the Eppes brothers talking, and then saw Don put his arm around his brother as they turned away down the hall. He felt a twinge of something – a longing for something he had never had, and he knew with certainty that there walked two of the luckiest men on the planet. He straightened, and his face became expressionless once again, his dark eyes unreadable, as he turned the other direction and walked silently down the hall.

----------------------------Finis--------------------------------------------


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